


Talon of the Bat

by ToastyThief



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood & Gore sometimes, Canon-Typical Violence, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson is a Talon, Gen, How Do I Tag, I need help with ideas, cursing, i write this instead of sleeping sometimes, irregular updates, sorry about that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-09 07:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 40,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8880640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToastyThief/pseuds/ToastyThief
Summary: Damian tolerated all of his ‘siblings’, but he liked Richard (never call him Grayson, Damian) the best. The elusive eldest was hard to find, the Manor was a labyrinth at the best of times for the newest addition. He never made noise, spoke rarely, & these were desired traits to Damian, given the families occupation of vigilantism. He also appreciated how Richard was a former assassin as well.The former Talon was exterely protective of his "Nest" & his "Owlets". Damian learns this in the first few weeks at the Manor, when an assassin invades.





	1. Bruce's Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce meets Dick.  
> Then, he meets him again later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VERY LATE EDIT: Okay, so these notes are all out of order ever since I tried to put the chapters in the chronological order. Forgive the messiness; it just represents the author's state of mind.
> 
> Oh my stars and garters. That's all I can say to how wonderful you all are.  
> I didn't expect how much you all would like this and ask for more. You have no idea how much your words and kudos mean to me!  
> Thank you from the bottom of my awful, procrastinating, easily overwhelmed heart.  
> I hope you all enjoy this...I'm not sure if it's as good as the first :( but I tried.

Bruce Wayne had watched the Flying Grayson’s death. Alfred had told him (i.e. ordered with a disapproving look) for the CEO turned vigilante to take a day off, even if it was going to Haly’s Circus. He had walked in as the acrobats hit the ground. Bruce had sprung into action before he had really processed what had happened. He pulled out his Wayne Tech phone to call GCPD to the scene. Then, he ran to a small group of performers and a man who seemed like the ringleader standing near the scene. Most of them were crying silently, acting too well ingrained to show the true magnitude of grief in front of an audience. Haly seemed to shake himself before suggesting that the group assist the audience out, offering refunds to those who wanted them. The group nodded before scattering, wiping their eyes as they went.  
Bruce glanced at the bodies and was startled to see a young boy kneeling in the pools of blood, sobbing, hands covering his face. It was obvious he was a Grayson with that appearance (black hair, tan skin, and short stature) and reaction. Bruce’s heart lurched.  
This was why he had created Batman, running around in Kevlar lined spandex (that definitely had to change, Gotham was too damn cold) every night. To prevent children from losing their parents as Bruce himself had. This boy was younger than Bruce was and Bruce felt was failure as heartbreaking sounds continued to fill the space.  
“Do you require anything, sir,” the ringleader asked, gaining Bruce’s attention, adding, “I’m the owner of this circus, Haly.” Bruce turned to face the shorter man, eyes reluctant to leave the boy’s form.  
“What happened? Does the boy have any relatives to go to?” Bruce knew he sounded strange, but he suddenly was desperate to know. If he could, he would be sure to take in, not adopt (he knew he wasn’t parent material), this child, to try and help him as best he could to move past this.  
“Yes, his great-grandfather is here, but he’s trying to calm our audience right now. I have no idea what happened, one minute the Grayson’s are in flight, the next…” Haly broke off, voice choked with emotion. “Who could have done this? The Grayson’s were the kindest family I’ve had the pleasure to know!”  
Bruce nodded in understanding, though a strange feeling clenched his heart, like this was a terrible tactical error. Sirens sounded in the distance, police on their way. He turned to console the boy until his relative appeared. He was gone, no sign of his existence other than the dark drops on the dry floor from tears.

Batman had found the missing child’s parents their justice. Tony Zucco was now permanently in jail for his many crimes. The victory felt empty, however. The child, Richard John Grayson, was nowhere to be found, however. There was no trace of him anywhere. Neither was there evidence of his great-grandfather, William Cobb.  
It had been years since those events had transpired. The boy would be thirteen now, Bruce estimated as he crouched on a gargoyle in full Bat-regalia. He had been staking out a rumored drug deal for a hour and a half now with no signs of activity. Strange, this informant was usually reliable.  
A movement caught his eye, slinking into the building’s third floor window. Batman straightened, retrieving his grappling gun, and shot it toward the building. It easily attached to the crumbling wall above the window.  
As he swung over, he ran through suspects. None fit the small and lithe form that had easily slid through that small window opening. As he landed next to the glass pane, a scream pierced the night air, high and feminine. Batman hurried in, a jolt of regret and panic shooting through him. He didn’t expect a child covered in blood in the room.  
The boy was in a dark brown and black costume, similar to a tunic and breeches, with an owl mask. A plethora of silver throwing knives, one dripping blood in his gloved hand, were strapped to the young child’s body. His gloves had sharp claws that clicked against the blades metal. He looked about thirteen. He turned as Batman landed. There was no sign of the victim.  
The boy’s eyes were a deep, empty yellow. Bruce almost recoiled at how inhuman they were.  
“Explain yourself, boy,” he growled. The boy only cocked his head, like the bird he was dressed as, then answered in a rasping, heavily accented voice.  
_"Beware The Court of Owls, that watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch, behind granite and lime. They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed, speak not a whispered word of them or they'll send The Talon for your head." _  
Batman narrowed his eyes at that, lenses in his cowl following the movement. That nursery rhyme? Before he could take a step, a knife buried itself into a Kevlar covered shoulder. As he instinctively flinched away to cover the wound, the boy fled, leaving Batman to a cold case and Alfred’s beratement when he returned to the Cave.__

He encountered the boy many more times, only to learn little more than that rhyme. The boy believed himself to be the Talon from the rhyme for some reason. He killed his targets with ease, evading Batman’s traps and inventions with acrobatics. Batman had found who he was, though.  
Richard John Grayson. The boy Bruce had failed so badly. He was now a young man, sixteen and with an acrobat’s build. The boy had attacked him many times. Each time he would intone in the same raspy, accented voice, “Batman, The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die.”  
In the fights after these words, Batman had learned the young man had a high healing factor, broken bones healing in seconds (depending on the severity.) The yellow eyes would change in brighter lights, turning a clear cerulean blue. The vigilante’s theory on this strange occurrence was that the blue pigmentation was better equipped to deal with light, so after his pupils constricted to accommodate, the iris would change to compensate as well.  
Flashbangs were a painful and effective way to cripple the young man, as Batman had just proven. Desperate for respite in their latest clash, he had drawn a tiny flash grenade, only as large as a smoke pellet, tossing it to break on the rooftop. Covering his eyes and crouching as it went off, Batman hadn’t expected such an agonized screech from his opponent.  
He rose, watching the teen writhe for a second in horrified surprise. Truthfully though, he should have expected this sort of reaction with how sensitive the boy’s eyes were. It caused Richard to flee as quickly as he could, however. Each movement was tentative, meaning he was running blind. Batman gave chase over the rooftops until he jumped down into the street and dipped into an open man-cover, clipping his shoulder on the way down. Batman quickly followed, determined to capture the boy.  
He was well into the sewers when something hit the back of his head, hard enough to send Batman into unconsciousness. His last thought was, ‘Damn, should’ve expected that.’  
He woke in a white, cold space, the sound of trickling water filling a huge area, judging by the slight echo. No smells (other than sweat, Kevlar and leather, but that was Bruce himself), no other sounds, and smooth, cold stone under his gloved hands. The familiar weight of his utility belt was missing as well. ‘Wonder how many people electrified themselves trying to remove it.’ He carefully opened his eyes to the room. He was next to a fountain, all white stone as well, a Barn Owl perched on granite, with the fountain’s water pouring out of its open beak. No sign of Richard or any other person for that matter.  
This place was colder than a winter day in Gotham. Different from the warm circus Richard had grown up in. There was no doubt in Batman's mind that this was Richard's home, at least the Talon thought it was his home. The Court of Owls seemed to exist and seemed to be extremely wealthy as well. It was a bit ridiculous how expensive this place must have been. All white granite and limestone, in accordance to the rhyme. This was borderline obsessive, as Bruce knew intimately well, judging by all his 'Bat Gear' as Alfred called it. ‘Probably drugged water in that fountain,’ he concluded as he stood. ‘Now to escape.’ He looked around the open space. Three exits leading into long white hallways lit by those fluorescent utility lights high above, unnatural and cold. The right rule seemed prudent in so obvious a labyrinth. He began to walk.  
Three days in, judging by thirst, he had drunk the water out of desperation and concluded it was drugged later, judging by the bodies appearing and disappearing from his vision. Talon had attacked him twice, each time gaining scrapes and contusions. Each time had been in the fountain room, the center of this hell-scape.  
Batman had counted the second time as a victory. Talon had seemed distracted, listening to voices only he could hear. Possibly the Court speaking to him in an earpiece. The first thing Batman did was remove that communication. The easiest way was punching the young man in the face to disorient him. That plan backfired quickly as Talon ignored the pain, trying to claw open Batman's chest with his gloves. Luckily, his punch had dislodged whatever was relaying the Court's commands. The change in fighting style was subtle, but noticeable. There were more showy moves, more twists and flips. His circus upbringing was on prominent display for his audience of one. There was a slight smile on his face as he did them as well. They traded more blows, Batman slowly but surely gaining the upper hand with his more powerful blows. A kick to the left leg had the young man crumple for a second, but as Batman stalked to deliver another blow, Talon rolled away. Using his momentum, he rose and spun to drag a punishing clawed hand across Batman's right shoulder, slicing through Kevlar to rend open the rhomboid major and infraspinatus muscles. The Kevlar had protected most of his shoulder, not a huge risk of infection, hopefully. Batman ignored the pain to grab his opponent's wrist, spinning him with Talon's own momentum to toss him into the fountain owl's granite perch. The stone cracked as the young man slammed into it, a permanent reminder of Batman in this blank space. The sound of repairing bones filled the still air as Talon dragged himself out of the crater to crash into the fountain's basin. A cloudy dark red, almost black, color filled the clear water. Batman hauled his coughing opponent out of the water, about to interrogate him, but Talon, using his dripping form to an advantage, slipped eel-like from the gauntleted hand. He slammed an elbow into Batman's face, sending him into unconsciousness for a second time. He woke to a repaired and clear water fountain, no sign of the altercation. Then, as he ran his hand on the wall a week in, a groove caught his attention, breaking him from the memory. He ran light fingers over it again, determining an arrow shape, pointing forward. He was going that way anyway, the hallway straight. ‘Had it been left by a previous victim?’ Bruce certainly hoped not. At a fork in the path, shadows caught on the ground making him pause. A barely noticeable arrow, pointing left this time. A smaller symbol was underneath it, a curve resembling an owl’s talon. He snorted in derision, he wasn’t that stupid. He went right.  
It happened again when, by estimation, Bruce had been trapped a week and a half. An arrow with a small talon mark trying to point him to the left. The hallucinations had gotten worse from the water he was forced to drink, so he had run disbelieving fingers over the marks before going right again.  
He hated those portrait rooms, mocking his efforts with portraits of his decline and other unfortunate souls. All in redwood frames, framed in blood. Two weeks in, the Talon’s arrow pointed to the right. Bruce followed in desperation.  
Many twists and turns later, all directed by the arrows, he came upon a room full of redwood coffins. The room was just a long hallway, long walls decorated with the same talon marking as the arrows. Each coffin was shut, but only one had a Talon sitting on it. Bruce cautiously walked in, looking around for any other clues as to what this room was designed for.  
Each coffin had a child’s photograph at the base, smiling or scowling black and white faces. The Talon himself was in his armor, staring at him with yellow eyes.  
“Richard Grayson,” Bruce greeted, noting how Richard straightened at his last name, like it was an order or conditioning. Strange. Richard inclined his head in acknowledgement.  
“Bruce Wayne. Batman,” was his only answer, “I can set you free, if you wish it.” Bruce narrowed his eyes at that. Richard watched impassively, still and silent.  
“Why should I trust a child who has tried to kill me multiple times?”  
“The Court has clipped my wings fully, forcing talons onto a robin’s feet.” Bruce watched as Richard’s eyes bled into blue once more, a slight hand twitch. He only winced at the white light blaring down onto the nightmarish room, helping prove Batman’s theory. “You lose your wings here. I…cannot allow that to occur again.”  
It was obvious the boy was having trouble speaking, rasped words fumbling as he searched for them. Bruce weighed his options. One hand, an obviously damaged person aiding in his escape. Other hand, this same person was loyal to his enemies by serious conditioning. One hand, he knew how to escape. Other hand, why hadn’t he before then? Bruce sighed.  
“Help me,” he spoke into the silence. Richard nodded, sliding off his perch and striding to the far-left corner of the room. As Bruce followed, he glanced at his new ally’s seat and saw that had a picture of a younger Richard, smiling brightly. The glass was shattered, marring the smile to look more like a grimace.  
A god-awful screeching (Bruce would ever deny the jump his body performed at the sudden sound) filled the room as Richard lifted a hidden metal grate that had been painted white to blend into the surroundings. Bruce walked over. “Where’s it lead to?  
“Sewer. Go, The Court shall awaken soon.” Bruce slid down, already contacting the Justice League.

The Court had fallen to the League’s might, almost pathetically because of how easy it was. Once Superman had found freezing Talons was extremely effective, he breathed cold air, freezing all but one, who was missing. They searched for it after the Court itself had fallen.  
Flash had found the wayward Talon in a small, brightly lit, freezing room. Blood stained the walls, but his healing factor was already in effect, barely any wounds on his body. It rose shakily at the crimson-clad man appeared, hands twitching in its clawed gloves. Superman appeared in response to the SOS Flash sent out. He promptly froze the man, just as Batman appeared. The Talon hadn't tried to attack at all.  
After a serious ribbing from the black-clad man, the Talon was freed. Batman faced the shivering Talon.  
“Richard, would you like to live with me,” he asked. Flash and Superman protested loudly as he was answered.  
“Yes, Grandmaster, but call me Dick.”  
“As long as I am Bruce, not Grandmaster.”


	2. Snapshots-Justice League #1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya :)!  
> A short chapter tonight, but I've been meaning to start these guys for a while now.  
> Don't worry, you'll see more of them.  
> I must apologize for the Martian Manhunter being longer than Wonder Woman, but his mental capabilities took hold of me and I couldn't help but write more than her. Hope I did alright...

WONDER WOMAN/DIANA PRINCE

Diana was disturbed that humans had recreated Daedalus’ Labyrinth. It wasn’t for any other reason than to torture other humans. A maze of sensory deprivation and drugged water, she shuddered to think of what could have been hiding at its corrupted heart. She held her sword tighter as she rounded a corner, shield raised for an useless defense. She was on guard for those humans Batman had called ‘Talons’, but had yet to encounter any living thing other than League members. She hadn’t seen anyone in a while if she thought about it. That could be why she was so on edge; she wasn’t used to being on a solo mission for so long and in such unsettling circumstances. A quiet scrape behind her prompted a quick spinning uppercut with her blade. A Talon dodged the attack with effortless grace, yellow eyes widening under the tinted glass in the mask he wore. She paused in her instinctive follow-through at the sight. Diana had seen awe, seen childlike wonderment when this Talon saw her face.

“Grandmaster ordered me to find lost League members. Are you lost, my Lady,” he inquired, going into a low and elegant bow. It reminded her of home in its traditional delivery, one arm out while the other was tucked to the chest with a leg sliding out for balance. Diana frowned in confusion. He seemed to search for words before elaborating. “You know him as Batman, yes? Grandmaster Batman has sent for you.” She narrowed her eyes, but nodded and followed. He went through the labyrinth confidently with her in tow, but it was a silent trip. She would assess this bird child (his emotions were incredibly animalistic, enough that the Huntress Pheraria’s gift of Animal Empathy was affecting Diana) and decide if he was truly a threat to the League. Though from what she could see already, he was just a child raised by war and loss. Diana decided to do her best to heal him.  
She had seen war and what it had done to Men, her comrades. She would do her best to help him move on along with Batman and she felt her resolve strengthen as the boy smiled at Batman, bright and pleased.

MARTIAN MANHUNTER/J’ONN JONES

J’onn watched unseen from his assigned surveillance perch as Diana was led out of the man-made maze by a young man. The boy beelined towards Batman as soon as he was in view. The quiet hero nodded in approval, causing a small smile to bloom on the boy’s face. J’onn revealed himself and began to walk towards the pair. Before J’onn could inquire about it, Superman floated over.

“J’onn, could you enter that Talon’s mind? I believe it has tricked Batman,” Superman said quietly. J’onn felt his brow furrow. All the League knew he loathed using that ability, especially without permission. Doing this was invasive and could even ‘scramble a mind like an egg’ as Flash once said. “I don’t want innocents in danger because we only trusted Batman on this matter.” J’onn couldn’t find a reasonable excuse for that. He found a secluded spot and closed his mind off from his body, the first step to any mental encounter. He ignored the familiar auras of his friends and focused on the unfamiliar, the unprotected.  
The Talon’s aura was strange, a dark black cloud with a light gray center, a pearl in an oyster bed. J’onn carefully peeled through layers of that dark fog slowly. He didn’t want to be sensed yet. It felt strange to traverse a mind with no fortifications after so long. He felt extremely powerful, nigh invincible like this.

That was his first mistake.

Every young Martian knows to never let down your guard when in someone’s mentality. It’s the first thing they learned in their Mentality classes (or it was before…Mars fell.) This was because looks were deceiving, especially in an everchanging area like the mind of a living being. J’onn had barely brushed that lit spot at the center of his mind when he became overwhelmed with chaos.  
J’onn was drowning in anguish, in joy, in confusion, in betrayal, and the AGONY this boy had survived made him feel like dying. In an instant, the swirling thoughts and emotions twisted into a knife and stabbed into him, a crude but an effective technique. The attack shattered uselessly against J’onn’s unconscious defenses however. What made J’onn reel back was the sounds his body were picking up. It was a sobbing scream, unending and desperate.

His second mistake was that he ignored it.

It was his only warning before something weakly slipped down his bodies arm, barely scratching his skin. It was enough to jolt J’onn out of the Talon’s head in a sudden abrupt snap. The child was barely hanging onto his wrist, clawed hands unable to pierce deeply into the Martian’s thick skin with his mind so far away. Tiny trickles of maroon blood slipped down the metal weapons, seeped into hinged cracks between the metal plates, and stained the barely noticeable skin underneath.  
The boy was begging him in a foreign language as tears slid down his face. J’onn was suddenly aware of Batman being restrained by Superman, shouting for J’onn to stop. Diana was running over to the pair, yelling at Superman. The Talon’s grip slackened and fell away as he lost his tenuous grip on reality. He almost hit the ground before J;onn could catch him in his arms. He began to convulse violently as the final remnants of J’onn’s presence left his mind. The Martian focused on how the boy’s eyes flicked from gold to blue to gold.

“J’onn, what did you do?!?” Batman’s furious yell broke him free of the memorizing transition. Diana had freed the man from Superman’s grasp. He was running toward the pair as fast as he could, cape flaring behind him like desperate wings. J’onn quickly slid out of his way, letting him carefully grab the trembling Talon. The dark man carefully leaned over the boy, murmuring soothing words. He answered just as softly, if not more so.

“I am sorry. Superman did not trust that the Talon’s intentions were pure…and I must admit that many of the League, even I, agreed. He asked if I could deduce his intent. I will admit that I was wrong, however, in not trusting how I felt about the method.” J’onn bowed his head as shame flooded through him. “I hope one day you will forgive my rash actions.” Flickering eyes focused on the Martian and the Talon smiled soft pardon. J’onn knew in that moment his words weren’t received the way they were meant to. They were received as orders to forgive and forget.

The thought made J’onn want to cry.


	3. Snapshots: Justice League 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A-que-man and John Steeeew-art
> 
> I need help...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that Aquaman is a powerful telepath? I wish I had before; I’d have liked him even more then! John Stewart is an architect?!? I thought he was in the Army? Any thoughts are welcome.
> 
> Did you also know that kings apparently referred to themselves in the plural because they represented the kingdom? I think that’s true at least…or is that only in Shakespeare’s work? Please correct me if I’m mistaken!
> 
> I will teach you as you read this fic (^.^)! You shall never escape school!!!! God, I am obsessed with cliffhangers and multiple stories going on at once, aren’t I? This chapter is alternately known as “How many strange and themed comparisons can I make?”
> 
> As always, thanks for reading.

ARTHUR CURRY/KING ORIN ATLAN-SON/AQUAMAN

Arthur had been patrolling Gotham Bay (a part of his kingdom no matter what Batman claimed) when a desperate fish swam over. Its movements were still smooth despite the emotions clearly running like a rip tide through its small form. It began to swim back and forth in front of Arthur, the swimming version of standing for fish as stopping usually meant drowning for many of their species. Arthur began to tread water as he waited for the report.

“My lord Orin, a human is trapped in your kingdom!” The little fish flashed back and forth, grey scales glimmering a dull silver in the murky, polluted water. “He seems to be garbed like your land allies, lord. He has been netted with metal and has gold eyes like a fish. The land fishers must have caught him and thrown him back.” Arthur felt confusion wash over him. A human with fish eyes?

“Show me, little one. We shall free him,” he answered swiftly despite the feeling. The little animal waved its fins in a graceful nod before darting off to the west. Arthur followed close behind. A few times he almost lost his small subject because of the brackish water, but the flashes of silver were enough to follow it. The strange pair soon laid eyes on their struggling quarry.

A young man dressed in dark clothing was chained by his feet to a concrete block embedded in the bay’s sandy floor. He was wriggling just like a shark on a fisherman’s line, all powerful grace and terrified rage. His hands, arms, legs, and ankles were wrapped (around his joints to prevent any true movement) in heavy, rusting metal chains. Arthur felt ill looking at it as he cautiously swam closer. If he moved like a shark, he may attack like one too, lashing out from his fear.  
Then the boy saw him. Yellow eyes brimming with desperation locked onto his form as it seemed to materialize from the dark waters. He froze in awe? Terror? Arthur didn’t much care as he drifted down to break the restraints; he would contemplate the strange colored irises later. He had to get the human to air first. The ones on his arms clanged dully as they broke open under Arthur’s strength. Arthur noticed that the boy wasn’t breathing, but that was normal for humans in his domain. What wasn’t was that the child didn’t seem to be struggling to not breathe. All humans did at some point, but this one seemed to be fine. Strange, he thought as he snapped the child’s leg restraints, most humans would be turning colors by now because of lack of air. He let a tendril of controlled mental power to brush the boy’s mind. There were no traces of Atlantis on him, only avian feelings of flight and dark intents trying to be forced deeper, it seemed, than Challenger Deep in the Mariana Trench. Arthur retreated before he was noticed, interest climbing a notch for the strange human.  
Arthur was suddenly used as a springboard, almost sent into a spin by the sudden move as the vigilante? pushed off him to speed his return to air. Arthur thanked his subject, who beamed at the praise, before following the strange human. He surfaced and immediately coughed into the smoggy night air; his lungs expelling the pollution that had collected from underneath the water. Arthur hated how disgusting Gotham was. “I protect all of Gotham” says Batman and Arthur almost snorted in disgust and derision at the thought.

“You are Aquaman, yes,” a tentative voice asked, almost childlike in its wonderment. Arthur turned to face the young man with a relieved, but startled smile. There was a bird-shaped mask on the child’s face, one of the yellow lenses cracked with the other missing; Arthur hadn’t cared enough to stare at his apparel underwater. The fish had been correct in its description; those eyes were as yellow as an eel’s own. Arthur instantly knew this child was just as dangerous, if not more so. A tendril of unease slid down his spine and almost appeared on his face. “I’m Nightwing, Grandmaster Batman’s new servant, nonono, new ally. Apologies, your majesty.”

Arthur felt surprised pleasure bloom just like an anemone in his chest. This land-dweller knew of Arthur and his status? His smile grew fond. Few seemed to know (or care) of Atlantis and its people. The unease grew louder at the same time. Atlantis was protected by this ignorance and this young man who resembled many underwater predators in his subtle movements was aware of Arthur’s kingdom. Arthur let the thought float away as he answered, storing it for later contemplation.

“It’s quite all right, Nightwing. We must admit the surprise of your knowing our status. Many don’t seem to care for us because of our ‘overzealous’ protection of the waters in our authority.” Nightwing looked appalled at the thought and Arthur couldn’t stop his chuckle. “We pay it no mind. We will admit interest in your remarkably eel-like eyes, however.” Nightwing giggled, bright as a bell, at the thought.

“I’ve never seen an eel! What are they…,” he answered before pausing, a gloved hand going to his ear where a communication device must have been placed. He sent confirmation before beginning to smoothly swim to shore, “Thank you for not letting me drown again!” Arthur watched as he clambered to shore; the Batmobile screeching to a stop a scant few moments later. The smile on the monarch’s face sloughed off as the young man flipped into the opened vehicle. Again? Arthur shuddered inwardly. He had a fair bit of thinking to do on his way back to his palace.

JOHN STEWART/GREEN LANTERN

John appreciated the intricate infrastructure of the Justice League Watchtower. The sleek design, sturdy materials, and expensive technology were a delight to the architect turned Green Lantern. He had placed on sentry duty while some of the League took on a mission in space with Hal Jordon at the helm. John sighed a bit heavily at the thought. It was boring as hell up here, he decided, No wonder Flash hated sentry duty. Nothing really happened when someone was watching, but turn your head for a second and shit hits the fan.  
Of course, that’s when the Zeta Tube came dragging itself into life sounding like grinding gears and clashing machinery parts instead of the usual soothing drone. John refused to acknowledge how badly it scared the living crap out of him. He rose from his chair and carefully walked toward the sound as he formed a nice green shield with his Power Ring. The best way to assess a threat was with defense, John had found.  
The Zeta’s light blue color had begun flashing red in the rhythm of Morse Code; a way for it to silently communicate with allies the issue. ‘Unauthorized access forced entry to the Zeta.’ John narrowed his eyes. A hacker in Batman tech? Hell no. Then the Zeta spat out its passenger and John froze.

It was Nightwing, Batman’s new sidekick, but he looked fucked. There really was no better word for it. His suit was torn with multiple clean lacerations (including a few that would’ve killed John, like that deep one in his stomach and the sliced femoral artery John saw on his left leg) as if caused by a sword (all healing too, but John wasn’t sure that was a good sign) and looking drugged to the gills. Nightwing staggered forward before his body gave up and he fell to his knees. John ran over as Nightwing fell catching him with the shield before beginning to try and plug his injuries with some small constructs. Not a good fix, but it’d get the kid to Medical and the best choice in short notice.

“Call…Grand,” a cough wracked through the young man before he continued, “Bruce. Call Bruce.” John didn’t know who that was, more concerned with how Nightwing’s chest rose and fell rapidly, a symptom of blood loss. John carefully picked him up and began to fly toward the Medical Wing. He couldn’t check temperature (Nightwing was almost always cool to the touch), but he could check for other signs. The kid was obviously weak and he seemed anxious, but that could be from the fight he had either won or fled from. John placed a hand on the side of Nightwing’s neck as he carefully set him on a medical bed, removing a glove to better check his patient’s pulse. Rapid and weak, it was barely enough to be felt through his fingertips. Shiiiiiiiiiiit, John wasn’t trained for this; he only knew basic first aid, but he would try anyway. “Jay…bird...” Nightwing was forced into unconsciousness before he could finish, but John crossed confusion off his growing list of hypovolemia. The Tower hooked the kid into the medical systems automatically (thank God,) so John left to run and get a computer from the medical office. Those held all the info on members, so this kid must be in there somewhere.  
When he returned, he started the process of warming up the laptop and began the process of wrapping the plethora of wounds. After that monumental task was done, he pulled over the computer that had been set hastily on the side table and searched for Nightwing.

It came up empty.

John almost threw the computer in frustration before searching again with a forced calm. ‘No data found’ blinked back onto the screen. John ground his teeth in frustration. This kid was dying and some dumbass hadn’t put him in the…shit. The Zeta hadn’t realized him as an ally. John could be aiding and abetting a villain. John would call whoever Bruce was, but he didn’t know who that was, let alone their phone number.

John could call Batman! Nightwing was one of his allies, God, John was such an idiot! He whipped out his phone (upgraded by the Bat so that it could work in space) and dialed. A high-pitched whine pulled his attention away. He looked over to the patient and felt his heart leap into his throat.

He wasn’t breathing. The EKG had gone flat and the automatic defibrillator wasn’t jumpstarting the heart. The screen began to list time of death and the causes as it disengaged from Nightwing’s body almost reluctantly. John put his head in his hands to fight the emotions of failure and regret that began to surface. Just then, he heard the Zeta come back to life, the normal humming drone with an undercurrent of clatters. A red blur sped to a stop next to the Green Lantern, who cursed and dropped his cell in surprise, revealing an already talking Barry.

“John, Batman is pissed that you were…oh hell,” Flash began only to freeze at the sight of Nightwing. John buried his face deeper into his hands. “Hey now, he isn’t dead, just…um…dead. But he came come back from these, so you’re good, John, don’t worry!” John looked up at Barry, not feeling too relieved despite the well-meaning hero. Before John could reply, heavy footsteps rang down the hallway.

“John, care to explai…,” there was the vigilante himself, menace flowing from his every step. He froze as he laid eyes on Nightwing and John wanted to slide to the floor despite Barry’s reassurances. A surprised sound came from behind Batman and then Robin ran out from behind to the bed. Robin clambered onto the side of the bed and placed a careful, bare (his green gloves had been tucked into the utility belt like a construction worker on break, John noted distantly) hand over Nightwing’s heart. A shaky sigh escaped Robin. Batman stalked over at the sound. He loomed over the pair on the bed in a stance that screamed of parental worry.

“He’s back already, Batman. Weak but steady heartbeat,” Robin reported, voice failing to hide his relief. Batman put a careful hand on his shoulder, communicating something through the touch that John couldn’t identify. Before anyone could react, Nightwing twitched under Robin’s hand before he moaned and writhed from under the teen to vomit an uncomfortable amount of blood and other …liquids on the floor. Almost all the heroes in the room backed away with a disgusted face, sound, or both. “I’m not cleaning that up.” Robin said, voice flat and emotionless. Barry snorted at the comment, hand rising to cover his mouth. Nightwing smiled and ruffled Robin’s hair before turning to his mentor. His face sobered as he spoke.

“Deathstroke says hello.”


	4. Jason and Dick Snapshots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three snapshots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme for Dick and Jason’s meeting after death, “I Know Those Eyes”-Count of Monte Cristo: The Musical. A wonderful musical; look it up, if you want.  
>  Sorry this isn’t what you guys are truly Jones-ing for...

“Jason, I can’t discuss this with you right now! The Gotham police force is under heavy fire! You aren’t going on patrol before you train with Dick and me until you don’t run the risk of dying on your first patrol,” Batman bellowed, twirling on his heel, and stalking to the Batmobile. As he screeched off, the former Talon seemed to perk up in excitement at the prospect of training. The undead bastard was already in a ratty pair of sweats in preparation of said activity. Jason huffed.

“Hell no. Go creep on Alf or practice not setting off the lethal force alarm on the mats, ya’ stupid zombie, I’m going on patrol,” Jason spat, turning to the equipment room to grab a utility belt. Before his hand could even get near the reinforced metal object, a hand carefully slammed Jason’s wrist to the table in a firm grip. Jason whipped his head to glare at Dick. He had a stern, but amused facial expression as he easily kept Jason’s hand pinned.

“Not yet,” he intoned, “Seemingly nonexistent training. I will go on patrol to assess your prowess.” Dick finished by releasing Jason’s hand with a smile. Jason felt a snarl form on his face at the elder’s words.

“I know how to fi…” he was cut off by an index finger on his lips. Before he could get even more pissed, Dick spoke, a small, scheming smile on his face. Jason bristled further at the treatment.

“I’m aware. Little Wing, what better place to assess than in the field?” Jason froze at that; Dick’s previous sentence finally hitting his brain. “Get dressed, Robin, we have crooks to punish.”

“You got it, man!” Jason dashed off with excitement, missing Dick’s confused look.

“Man? That’s not my name…” he murmured before heading off to suit up himself. He could inquire to Jaybird about it on patrol.

TINY SKIP CAUSE I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO LEAD INTO THIS

When the pair came back to the Cave, exhilarated and with Jason excitedly recounting the nights many skirmishes with various crooks and villains, it was to a scowling Batman. Jason had hidden behind Dick (something he would deny for the rest of his life) and voice dying in his throat.

“Never ordered us to remain inside the Nest,” Dick said before Batman could open his mouth. Jason was then herded up the stairs to the Manor’s kitchen for cookies; Dick wandering off before joining him in the sugary feast. Alfred had scolded them the next day for bringing costumes from the Cave and inhaling those cookies afterwards, but the boys were too busy sniggering at Bruce’s scream of surprised dismay as he found out Dick had mixed pink hair dye in with his toiletries.

SAD PART AS APPARENTLY, I CAN’T AVOID THOSE

Jason stomped into his bedroom as he began tossing his school shit every which way (both Dick and Jason agreed almost everything school related was torture) before he noticed Dick standing at his desk and holding a familiar piece of crumpled paper with both hands. Jason held in a string of cusses. Dick’s face was blank as white paper as blue eyes scanned repeatedly over the ink letters.

Dick had found his mother’s letter.

He’d know Jason wanted to meet her. Dick had always been observant and surprisingly empathetic. At this moment, Jason wished he wasn’t. Blue eyes flicked up to meet Jason’s green, too many emotions for Jason to decipher swimming around in that ocean blue. Jason scuffed his feet on the hardwood floor as he waited for Dick to speak. It was better to wait for a reaction than to react with Dick. Then Dick smiled (later on, Jason would realize it had been forced onto Dick’s face to hide fear and apprehension, but that would be after he died and saw Dick do it again when Bruce “died”) and Jason couldn’t stop the confusion from rolling onto his face.

“Jaybird, your mother sent a letter? Wonderful! We can bring her back to the Manor and yo…” Dick had begun bouncing on his feet excitedly before Jason interrupted. That had been truthful, at least. Jason knew how much it pained the elder boy that he could never see his family again, his parents or the circus. Any chance for his little brother to find closure was wonderful to the eldest.

“You haven’t read the whole thing, Dick. I have to go alone,” Jason winced at how sullen Dick suddenly became at that. Dick set the paper down almost reverently before turning and crouching down lower than Jason. Dick did that so Jason’s neck didn’t hurt from the slight tilt it had to make to keep eye contact. Dick looked unnaturally sad and serious as he spoke. Jason didn’t like that he had seemingly caused it.

“Jason, sometimes your true family isn’t the one that shares blood with you; it’s the one that sheds blood for you,” Dick warned. His ocean eyes were a steady, serious blue and Jason shuddered. He was suddenly a small bit glad for the serum that had fucked with Dick’s biology so goddamn badly. The thought of having those blue eyes on him for every second of his life, assessing and categorizing every move and word and empathetic as hell, without a pause for golden flashes, was terrifying.

“I’ll keep it in mind, okay,” he said, glancing away from that ancient gaze. A gentle hand on his chin guided Jason’s attention back to Dick. A smile was on Dick’s face and Jason blinked from the emotional whiplash.

“I bet I could get Alfred to bake some bread or a cake in celebration,” Dick stopped Jason’s protest with a paper from Jason’s pile of report cards and tests on the desk, “An A+ in every subject? Little Wing, we’re going to celebrate till the Bat comes home.” The unspoken promise of an older brother to not speak of the letter unless there was express permission granted. Jason grinned.

BREAK LINE FOR A TIME SKIP

When Jason came back to Gotham, heart set on vengeance, he expected some calm days to rustle up some trouble before the Big Bad Bat caught on to a new player in the city. He had settled in Bludhaven temporarily, to get a feel for Gotham and her corruption again. Bludhaven was all of Gotham’s filth with none of her glamorous lies.  
He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t looking for someone in particular that ghosted the smoggy rooftops as well. Red Hood had heard from several (now dead) drugged to hell and flying on a high birds that Nightwing had gone off the deep end. Tortured the Joker for months before killing him and stringing the pieces all over Gotham, the strange frowning face nailed to Wayne Manor’s front door with a hiltless throwing knife adorned with an owl, which had scared the shit out of Bruce; Jason would bet money on that, and forced the resurrected male to chuckle at the thought of a flustered Batman.

As soon as night had fallen and started his recon of Gotham’s border in the relative safety of Bludhaven, however, Jason had seen Nightwing on patrol. His older brother looked awful, paler than normal and had blood dripping from his clawed gloves. Jason had recoiled unintentionally, drawing the vigilante’s attention with the sudden movement. Jason is ashamed to this day to say that he ran from his older brother like a bat out of hell (pun unintended.) The overwhelming and instinctive fear Jason had gotten from one glance of hidden gold eyes was disturbing to the young adult. He had been caught with ease, tackled to the ground with unnecessary force. He was tempted to scream, “Police brutality!” but refrained.  
Instead, Jason twisted in the grip, but Nightwing only used the movement to flip his prey and straddle his hips. The pressure from his knees in the juncture between hip, pelvis, and leg pinned Jason’s legs down with a sharp relentless pain. Jason’s hands were held together and down on his red bat insignia with one clawed hand.

“Alias,” Dick hissed. Jason squirmed in the iron grip for a second before a single dripping claw ghosted over his neck. Drips slid down his throat foreshadowing Nightwing’s intent. Jason froze and breathed out his answer.

“Red Hood.” White lenses narrowed and the claw dropped ever closer to Jason’s neck, sliding over the same path repeatedly with a terrible gentleness. It was the slowest path to death, Jason realized. Dick wanted his prey to suffer, choking on their own life. Jason’s blood ran cold at the thought of such a slow death. The cold metal on his brother’s hands had been slightly warmed by the liquid staining it and Jason really regretted the leather jacket he’d worn tonight. No protection from apparently insane older brothers who didn’t recognize you. Kevlar and leather didn’t do much to stop slicing weapons.

“List your crimes, Red Hood,” Nightwing’s voice was cold and dead, causing Jason to shudder. Nightwing wasn’t even acting like Talon. Talon didn’t care about crime; it wanted to follow orders and to please its masters. This was new and looked like bone-deep, agonized longing and unslaked, blood-lusting vengeance, like how Jason was feeling. He didn’t feel angry anymore, just oddly scared of the…twisted, hurt thing pinning him down. He didn’t really want his path to follow…this. This was where he was going though, wasn’t it? A tightening of the hand pinning his hands galvanized Jason to answer the question.

“I haven’t done anything, man! I was just getting a feel for Gotham from a safe distance,” Jason answered, hoping to whatever thing had brought him back from death to save him again from his brother. Nightwing tilted his head slightly before a claw tapped the helmet’s white left eye lightly. A smear of red stained the lens in a strange pattern as the sharp click sounded through the air. Jason flinched back as if it had tried to touch his actual eye with a hidden grimace. A quiet confused sound left Nightwing’s throat.

“Take this off.” Jason started underneath Nightwing’s body. What? Was this Dick’s way to understand something he’d never gotten, the death he should’ve have had when he was still a broken-hearted nine? Watch the light fade from his eyes as Jason died? Find out his identity with nothing soul-searching involved? Jokes on him, Jason was wearing his red domino underneath the helmet tonight. Nightwing released his pinned hands carefully, obviously ready for an attack. Jason looked at his wrists, idly rubbing feeling back into them. Blood slicked the movement with an obscene sound. Jason hid the wince easily before moving to remove his helmet, sitting up slightly to do so.  
When it came off, Jason set it delicately down beside them. The explosives were quite touchy sometimes. Nightwing grabbed Jason’s face with both hands, carefully not piercing the thin skin on his face as he did so. Jason had the sudden and strange urge to gag at the feeling of blood being smeared on his face. Thumbs rubbed under his eyes which forced Jason to stay still with those claws so close to his eyes.

Dick must have recognized something in his voice and now investigating the anomaly. Nightwing was turning Jason’s face as he scrutinized it intensely. Jason was assessing the likelihood of fighting free versus dying in agony when Nightwing snatched the domino off his face.  
Both froze when his eyes were revealed. Nightwing tore off his own mask for a better look. Identities didn’t matter if you were going to murder the person afterwards. Lost and shattered gold gazed back into pained sea-green.

“Little Wing?” Dick’s voice was ragged with too many emotions to decipher. Jason sighed heavily.

“Yeah, it’s me.” He was crushed to the bloody blue bird crest on Nightwing’s chest with a sudden hug. He heard a joyful sound, almost like a purr or coo escape Dick. Jason felt a curl of anger ignite in his chest. How dare the man assume everything was sunshine and rainbows? Jason had DIED! He pulled away from the hug; Dick allowing it as he spoke, gold eyes bright with unrestrained joy.

“I thought you were dead and that I could’ve stopped it by telling Grandmaster about the letter, but I didn’t, don’t you worry, Jay Bird! Where’ve you been,” Dick was speaking almost too quickly for Jason to decipher. The question threw Jason out of whack again. He was beginning to get annoyed at how easily Dick seemed to do that; the anger flaring brighter in his chest. Dick’s smile was bright as he waited o so patiently for Jason’s answers.  
He felt the sneer appear on his face, but felt disconnected from his body slightly. Dick recoiled slightly from the look. Good. Jason could scare him for a change, thrown him for a loop. Jason shot to his feet as he yelled his answer.

“Where I’ve been? Like I went on a goddamn summer vacation?! I DIED!” His answer seemed to rip the heart straight out of Dick and caused a horrified expression to form. A violent satisfaction bloomed in Jason’s chest even as he felt regret at the reaction. “Nice to see you know the gravity of that statement even though you come back quite easily from that sort of shit. Tell me, did your precious fucking Grandmaster even mourn me before he grabbed some other poor sap of a kid to shove into the streets?” Jason paused, watching his brother flounder for words before driving the nail in the proverbial coffin with his next words, “Well? Answer me, Grayson.”

The effect was instantaneous. Dick’s gold eyes dulled as full body shudders wracked through his slighter frame. A low keen was dragged from Dick’s throat, desperate and pained, as he wrapped his arms around his shaking body. Jason stepped back in confusion. The hell? Dick had always answered Bruce when he said his last name; Jason had thought it would get him a straight answer. He reached out an arm carefully, as if to calm a skittish animal. Centimeters from soft black hair, he heard Dick speak, soft words forming from the keen with no breath in between.

“Dead. Failed. Useless. Decommission. Dead. Grandmaster was devastated. New Robin found identities. Dead. Confrontation. Retreat. Failed. Decommission the useless, the failures. I’m sorry…” his low words continued, but made Jason pause in his attempt of touching Dick. If he did, he wouldn’t learn about the Court and their practices because Dick could run. Dick didn’t talk about it until forced and Bruce had always said “Information is the best weapon in a confrontation” after all. If Jason were to take down the Batman, he’d have to contend with Nightwing. To fight Nightwing, you needed information.

Though it warmed Jason to know at least one person had cared enough to avenge him.

It chilled Jason to the bone as he realized Bruce was still the villain in this story, though.

Bruce had thrown another innocent into the fray with no thought, just because the new kid had found out Batman’s identity. Even with training and intellect, it’s always easy to   
cause an ‘accident’ in the field.

Bruce had seen a man with no free will to speak of and snatched him up to be his own loyal little lap dog. He’d told the man that in order to have a safe home and basic human needs; he’d have to reinvent himself once more, from mindless assassin to mindless bodyguard. Bruce hadn’t even tried to break the conditioning, just steer it in a different direction. The Batman had faced more difficult challenges than that every night!

Jason was going to end the man’s bullshit once and for all.

“It’s going to be fine, Dickie Bird. Just fine,” Jason soothed, hand gently petting soft black hair as he planned the Batman’s downfall.


	5. Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PONYTAILS ARE A HANDHOLD FOR AN EASY SLIT THROATED MURDER, SLADE! CUT YOUR HAIR, JEEZ. You’d think he’d know that… If you can’t tell, it bothers me when fighters have long hair. Sorry for yelling.
> 
> I flop between Nightwing, Talon, and Dick in this chapter a bunch as a “name” for Dick. Don’t freak about it too much, please. He’s still Dick/Nightwing (slightly Talon at places, he’s more of a subconscious/instinctual mindset…who screeches a whole bunch…calm down man) just flipping between all three is easier than trying to stick to one mindset. This is still during the transition from mostly mindless Talon to Dick/Nightwing, so confusion for everyone

Dick was patrolling Gotham while Jason and Grandmaster Wayne were on a Justice League mission. Jason was the newest addition to his Nest; Dick had given him the name Robin in honor of his parents. Jason was a bright teen, filled with fire and indomitable will, and Dick adored him already. The teen had fit the name perfectly. Jason was teaching Dick how to survive in the daily world the Grandmaster, Alfred, and Jason traversed every day. He forced Dick to go outside (which hadn’t gone over well for anyone involved) on the Manor grounds and was helping to educate his elder brother as Jason himself finished his slap-dash education.

Made Dick regret slamming him into the Batcave floor the first time he’d seen the kid, really.

Gotham was oddly silent tonight, barely any activity and it made Dick twitchy. Nightwing crouched on a gargoyle on the roof of one of the many churches scattered across the city. Tilting his head slightly from side to side as he searched for prey; Nightwing sighed quietly. Criminals didn’t understand that the quieter they were, the tenser and hungrier for action their predators became. A clatter made Nightwing whip his head to the left. Glass bottles longing for alcohol shattered and rolled from an alley as a rattling metal garbage can lid followed close behind; Nightwing narrowed his eyes at the movement. Strange that no person emerged into the streetlamp lit avenue after the refuse. Dick slid from his perch, catching himself with a curving metal streetlamp before hitting the ground.  
Dick strolled over to the alley’s entrance and examined the area. He paused at the altercation in front of him. Not an altercation, a massacre. Blood was splashed on the dirty brick walls in dripping arcs. A metal bin had been sliced open and was steadily losing its garbage bag innards onto the ground from its horizontal position; the likely source of the  
bottles that had alerted the vigilante.

A man in orange and black tinged blue armor stood wiping viridian arterial blood off his blade casually. He had quite an impressive array of weapons attached to his body, many small or collapsed enough to be easy to miss in a quick glance and identified. He wasn’t much taller than the Grandmaster, but was more intimidating by far because of the more predatory movements. A long white ponytail was draped down his back. Dick held in the urge to snort at the strange hairstyle with some difficulty. There were a few dead men, gang members from Skull territory, Nightwing concluded by the black and white bandana on their left shoulders, flopped on the ground artlessly and each with a clean stab to the throat. Talon appreciated how clean it all was, but Dick ignored the thought.

“Hope you don’t hold it against me, kid, but loose ends and all that,” a sonorous and deep voice echoed from behind the mask. Dick could hear the smile in the man’s voice and took an involuntary step back. A smiling villain was never a good sign. Talon was screaming to attack, assess the new threat, make it regret entering Talon’s domain. Nightwing had no objections to that idea and drew his escrima. He held back the urge to lash out with an ease created by practice. The man seemed surprised by that and paused to give the younger a familiar look behind the mask. Nightwing stood still, even going as far as to stop breathing. It helped narrow the world down with less enhanced sensory input (Talons protected the Court from much more than mere human assassination attempts, poisons and gases were harder to detect with normal senses) and it wasn’t as if he truly needed to breathe anyways. Dick recognized the look. An elder sizing up its competition, deciding if the fight was worth the inevitable wounds.

Cobb had done the same thing after the first-time Dick had killed him in the Labyrinth, all animal grace and no skill, with a fragment of marble from the shattered white walls. Dick had been desperate enough to let his Great-Grandfather damage him so that he could have a weapon to fight with. The man in front of Nightwing was obviously skilled, most likely would defeat the vigilante in a fight. “Do you really want to fight me over a few dead gangsters who should’ve minded their own business?”  
Nightwing sunk into a balanced and defensive stance, escrima lighting up with blue-white arcs of lightning at their now glowing ends. His intent was clear. The man chuckled low at the sight, settling into his own defensive stance. “Fine then. En garde, kid.” With those words, he lunged towards Nightwing, who danced away from the drawn blade with a swift answering swing. The weapon crackled as it connected with an armored shoulder, but the man only twitched as he spun quicker than Dick could dodge.  
The sword sliced through his blue crest, marring it with dark blood. Nightwing ignored the pain easily, landing on his feet before spin-kicking at the mask to distract and jabbing both escrima onto the metal blade. The current passed easily through the folded metal. A low growl of annoyance and pain made Nightwing smile with feral pride as his opponent dropped the sword. A punch in the side was a way to break away and allow the pair to reassess the situation. Nightwing kicked the fallen weapon closer to his opponent, curiosity at how skilled the man (how worthy he might be as a possible Talon) was flooding his system. The orange man retrieved his blade carefully, tensed for an attack that never came as he straightened.

“You’re good, kid. Who trained you first? It wasn’t the Bat; that man never returns a fine blade to its owner.” Dick twitched at the accusation, fingers tightening their grip on his escrima. A small *tack* sounded near his feet. Nightwing glanced down at the sound at a tiny grenade, barely palm-size and kicked it on instinct at his enemy. It shattered in the air into several flaming fragments as the man sliced through it, lodging the small shards deep into the pair as the shockwave pushed Dick into a wall.  
A normal grenade was not that powerful; he must have improved the whole explosive instrument to obtain that effect. That meant he was intelligent and Dick felt his heart skip a beat. Intelligent and strong was always a bad combination in combatants, but sought for in allies. Nightwing tilted his head away from the fist trying to cave in his face, not really concerned about that as he snapped a kick to gain breathing room. This man had a high healing factor, definitely stronger than Dick’s, the shrapnel being forced out of his opponent’s body as it healed.  
Talon purred quietly at the sight in Dick’s mind, quite starved for a true challenger such as this. It had been too long since Talon had gotten a truly satisfying confrontation with another of its kind. Nightwing tried to ignore how the world seemed to sway in and out in a drunken waltz, more focused on how to escape. The Grandmaster had orders set in place if Dick couldn’t handle an opponent. Even Talon had to follow the orders, though both hated to abandon a fight.  
Dick wasn’t going to lie; this fight was easily getting out of hand.

“Alias first,” Nightwing countered easily as he pried an arm from the wall and threw an escrima. The ricocheting weapon struck the swordsman squarely in the chest to stagger him with a static crackle. Nightwing used the time to emerge from the wall, going into a fluid front hand-spring and kicking the man in the chest with the momentum. It forced the man to stagger back further, but he retaliated as Dick broke away with three rapid swipes of his blade. One bit deep into Dick’s side with the other two slamming into the vigilante’s back in a crude X-like pattern.  
Nightwing caught himself messily on account of the spinning world around him; the force of the blows slamming him to his knees for a few crucial seconds. Talon screeched as it recognized what had happened. It protested at the cowardly use of poison in a fight. The had been no sign of the accursed substance on the man’s blade! He hadn’t accounted for the smaller hidden blades on his opponent’s (slightly gaudy if Talon/Nightwing/Dick really thought about it) armor. The small serrated knife easily bitinto the wound on Dick's side and dragged the wound across the younger man’s abdomen.

“I’m called Deathstroke, little bird,” he answered through the mask. He had a strange note in his voice that Dick couldn’t place. Nightwing, biting back the urge to hiss at the pain and his own stupidity, sliding out of Talon’s way as it burst to the surface in protective fury. It dropped the remaining weapon in its hands and snapped a hand up to grip the snowy ponytail even as it twisted around with no concern about the damaged state its body was in. Talon had never been concerned with his bodies physical state. A startled noise escaped Deathstroke as Talon violently jerked his head back to expose the pale thin line of unprotected throat. Deathstroke involuntarily coughed at the sudden move, airways blocked by the move.  
Talon tried to slash open Deathstroke’s throat, but didn’t expect the man to cut his hair with the bloodstained blade in his hand. The man then used Talon’s surprise to his own advantage, lashing out with the blade and scoring more marks onto the twisting body beneath him. Talon was hissing and scraping long lines into any exposed flesh it could find. It wanted this Deathstroke, this irreverent pilgrim to the Grandmaster’s realm, to remember Dick Grayson as a fierce opponent.

Then Deathstroke sliced through a femoral artery as if it were butter. The pain was unimportant, but it forced Talon to admit defeat. It felt a sharp pang of regret having to bolt from the fight. It was the most satisfying one they had had in a while. But orders were orders. It quickly dredged out a smoke bomb to break against the ground. It caused both combatants to cough and forced Deathstroke to lessen his hold so that Talon could wriggle free.  
They ignored how the coughing turned to laughter as it heard the man call out. It was easier to focus on trying not to pass out from blood loss and pain than the strange feeling unfurling in its chest.

“Tell your daddy I said hello, little bird!”


	6. Damian's Guardian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian liked Richard the best.  
> That this was well founded was supported time and time again.

Damian tolerated all of his ‘siblings’, but he liked Richard (never call him Grayson, Damian) the best. The elusive eldest was hard to find, the Manor was a labyrinth at the best of times for the newest addition. He never made noise, spoke rarely, and these were desired traits to Damian, given the families occupation of vigilantism. He also appreciated how Richard was a former assassin as well.  


The man had been trained from the age of eight to be an assassin for the “Court of Owls”. A ridiculous group of worthless, delusional gold-diggers, in Damian’s opinion, after he’d read the report on them. This background meant Damian had someone to talk to when he got frustrated with his father’s pigheadedness on a permanent solution to the Bat’s enemies. Even if he didn’t get very many verbal answers back, that is. They hadn’t taught the man how to communicate; it had been Pennyworth and Father who had. His old master’s only lessons were obedience, discipline, and pain.  


It was pleasant to have a companion that understood his plight, but not turn the conversation onto his own grievances, like Todd usually did. Damian could speak for hours on how Father could be more efficient, how frustrating the man was, etcetera. Richard would listen silently, blue eyes watching Damian intently.  
His eyes were the most unsettling to the young Al-Ghul. They were extremely sensitive to light, enough to require dark sunglasses in the Manor’s sunlit rooms or risk blindness. They would flash owl yellow at times, usually when the man was in pain or had strong emotions. Damian hadn’t gotten used to that fact yet, so he tensed whenever it happened. Drake had teased him relentlessly till Richard himself had intervened.  


Drake, the insufferable fool, had been rambling about how Damian should respect and listen to his elder brothers both in and out of the field. Todd was staying tactfully silent, reading as he sipped tea. Damian had been yawning when Richard had slid from the chandelier, landing lightly next to Todd on his chair’s back. Damian had hidden his reaction well enough, the flinch barely noticeable.  
Todd had calmly taken a sip of his tea, then passed it to his new companion. Richard took it carefully, like he was afraid of shattering the porcelain, before drinking a bit, uncovered blue eyes flashing yellow in apparent bliss. Damian startled violently in his chair at the sight, cursing in Arabic.  


“Dick, nice of you to drop in on this fine rainy day,” Todd greeted before returning to his book. Drake had stopped lecturing to start laughing loudly at the unnerved child assassin.  
“When will you stop doing that, Damian? Every time,” he sniggered. Damian had felt a hot blush start to stain his face. Before he could retaliate, either verbally or physically, Richard spoke, voice rasping from disuse.  


“Tim, you avoided me for three years once you found out I was a former Talon. Owlet’s reaction is expected. He knows he should have known I was there,” the first sentence had gotten Drake to quiet, but Todd and Damian had started to laugh instead. Richard only finished off his tea, trying to sooth his throat.  
“Dick, are you meaning to say I was the only one who didn’t piss myself when they met you?!” Todd breathed out through honest to Allah giggles, “That’s awesome!” Richard had smiled slightly before looking to the trio.  
“Other than Cass, yes. Alfred has finished dinner and Bruce just drove up.” He effortlessly left his perch before silently leaving the room.  


Damian suddenly woke from half-asleep musings at his bedroom’s desk with a blade to his throat.  
The blade at his throat is an interesting new experience. The fact that an assassin has come after him isn’t, (over his years as an Al-Ghul, he’s had at least a dozen attempts on his life, not to mention the amateur ones), but he’s never had one manage to get this close to him before. Usually Damian could end the threat before it came near him.  
So the blade pressed to his throat, keeping him still where he’s been leaned over his desk (after he had succumbed to daydreaming to escape the tediously easy work from the school Father forced him to attend) is an interesting new feeling. He’s never had a blade at his throat before, at least this long without retaliation.  
Damian blamed how easily the blade could slice his jugular open, spilling blood like a tipped red paint can, for his still posture. The blade moving forces him to stand, to face this intruder head-on. Damian glares, emerald eyes promising painful retribution.  


This male - tall, lean, with short brown hair, pale, unmarked skin, and dirt colored eyes, all in traditional League of Assassin’s garb - managed to bypass all his and Father’s security, the safeguards Damian keeps outside in the hallway, and to traverse the Manor, apparently without disturbing the four trained men he shares it with (Father, Pennyworth, Drake, and Damian himself. Richard was a different matter entirely). That didn’t bode well for his survival of the night, but Damian had been in worse situations.  


“Can I help you?” he hisses, careful to keep his hands down and his body as still as possible, to not provoke the slicing of his throat. Damian will not lessen his glare however. This irrelevant bastard didn’t deserve an ounce of fear from a Wayne, let alone an Al-Ghul.  
“Damian Wayne,” the man says, in a voice still young, but promising to lower in a couple more years. “You are my mark, yes?” Without waiting for an answer, not that one was needed truthfully, the man scoffs and comments, “Your rich pig of a father should invest in more defenses, child; your home was pathetically easy to intrude upon, with an elderly man as his only servant as well. Pathetic. Why would Mistress be interested in that?” There’s a foreign accent to his words. It almost reminds him of how Richard speaks, when he does speak, but with the formality taken to an extremely lower degree, like this pig thought they were friends.  


How dare this peon speak of his Mother in that fashion, like he knows her? Damian would make sure his end was as agonizing as possible for the insinuation! Insulting Pennyworth is also unforgivable. The old codger was truly one of the best and loyal servants Damian had come across, despite his age. His glare deepened, righteous anger filling his small frame.  
Then he sees a shadow of movement behind the assassin, a flash of a hard to detect, black metallic color, so he lets his mouth curl into a sharp smirk. “We have defenses no intruder would know about.”  


He jerks backwards, leaning away just enough from the blade, the shadow disengages from the wall, and Richard is there, defending his little brother, his “Owlet”, with fierce determination. He tackles the assassin to the floor, a cracking sound filling the cool night air.  
A knee plants into the center of the gasping assassin’s chest, the blade is twisted out of his hand, and Damian orders, “Don’t kill him! Not before I interrogate him.“ before the blade can get turned to the assassin’s throat.  


The moment of pause where Richard processes the order, eyes flashing between colors almost violently, fighting his instincts, lets the assassin twist, and shove the former Talon off to the side. Richard turns, catching himself against the ground, but losing the blade, to face the threat on hands and toes, shoves off and slams the man into the ground again.  


There’s a sharp hiss of pain followed by curses as Richard gets ahold of one wrist, twisting the assassin’s arm up into the air, locking his elbow tight and driving a hard hand into his shoulder to keep it pinned to the floor. Damian can see Richard’s slight, but considerable weight bear down into the knee he has planted in his pinned prey’s lower back. The assassin gives a strained, breathless groan of pain as he loses the breath to curse, wriggling like a hooked fish. Whatever had cracked must be on the painful side now.  


Damian feels a triumphant and prideful smile form on his face. He retrieves the knife from the floor as he sauntered over. Richard watches carefully, grip tight.  
The assassin finally goes still as his own blade presses to the jugular vein in his neck. It takes the pair a little bit of work to get him up on his knees between them as they stand, Richard still holding the assassin’s right arm up and twisted with a hand on his wrist. Damian, with the blade slotted beneath the assassin’s chin and Richard’s other hand curled tight in the man’s hair to hold him stock still, even though feeble thrashes of attempted escape. His older ‘brother’ is in casual clothing; loose things that make Damian infer that he was sleeping before this fiasco. A bandolier of knives on his chest had been the dark sheen Damian had caught.  
Damian begins inspecting the young man; studying him. “So,” he starts, with a thin, cruel smile, “now that we’re in a position more to my liking, I’ll ask again. Can I help you?”  


The assassin is scowling, angry at the ease of his defeat. There’s silence for a long few moments, before the assassin spits at Damian’s feet. The child scowls at the blatant disrespect, digging the blade a tiny bit deeper into his captive’s neck.  
“All of us know who you are, Al-Ghul. Your mother put out the mission herself.” A rake of that brown gaze down his body and up again, and then an obviously practiced sneer. “You are lacking in skills; your pet has more promise.”  


Damian sees the sharp edge to Richard’s blue eyes, a flash of feral yellow, a moment before the blade is snatched out of Damian’s hand, pushing upwards even harder, drawing a line of blood across the assassin’s throat. A nervous swallow would slice the man’s throat open like Joker’s smile, large and red.  
“No one owns me,” Richard hisses viciously, rasping voice as hard as the steel of the blade. The assassin swallows carefully. The blade was biting into thin flesh, barely restrained from slicing open the throat underneath. Richard would follow his orders, however. A well-trained dog, even off its leash, is still trained after all.  
Damian knew very well that Richard knew his place, unlike this insolent cur. Damian turns his torso to the door as soon as the grip of the blade is returned to his hand. Richard restrains the man again.  


“Father, we have a guest!” Damian yells. When he turns back, the unnerved look on the intruder’s face makes both former assassins smile. This man had no idea what waking Bruce Wayne meant for his future, but his sons were looking forward to it.


	7. Dick's Ire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick doesn't appreciate random peons attacking his Nest, endangering the Grandmaster and the Owlets.  
> He could wait though. Bruce would get information, Dick would take out the trash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, sorry this chapter feels a bit half-assed and; is shorter than the others, but I wanted to post a Christmas gift for you wonderful people! Dick's perspective has been the hardest to pin down right now and I've been busy with life in general.  
> DAMN YOU SOCIAL INTERACTION/LIFE IN GENERAL DX!!!! RUINING MY PLANS!  
> Sorry, had to scream my frustrations out.  
> I hope it passes muster :). Joyful holiday, whichever you have.

‘This room was ridiculously dark and empty for a young boy,’ Dick thought as Damian screamed for his father, almost causing Dick to flinch. Dark wood furniture to match the hardwood floor, warm burgundy sheets on the queen bed, and a tidy wood desk near the large window, a few papers scattered on top from the altercation. The only other pieces of furniture were the dresser and desk chair, both still made of a dark wood.  
Weren’t children supposed to like bright, gaudy things like unicorns or race-cars? They were also supposed to smile and laugh loudly a large amount of the time to become well-adjusted adults, right? Dick knew his Owlet liked art, maybe he could go buy some nice and bright things with Alfred tomorrow to get him to smile…after this situation had been dealt with. He scowled as he thought of the man in his grasp. He had disturbed Dick’s family, nothing could save the man from retribution.

Dick was distracted from truthfully violent thoughts on how best to torture the man for endangering his Owlet when his Grandmaster, no Bruce (Bruce had said Dick was not to call him Grandmaster, but it was so difficult to follow that order), shuffled in tiredly with a murderous expression. The invader in Dick’s grip jolted at the expression, causing Damian to smile a bit wider. Damian turned to explain the situation to his father. His Owlet would be a fine Grandmaster when he grew into himself. Not Grandmaster, a fine adult and CEO of Wayne Enterprises.

He did have that strange habit of jumping at something Dick did…like something changed when he didn’t expect it. Dick truly had no idea what that would be though, hopefully it would fade with time before he took Bruce’s throne. It would be awkward in a board meeting for the young man to startle for no reason.  
Dick smiled as Bruce turned toward him and the desecrator. He presented his catch like a pleased cat, causing both Waynes to smile, for different reasons most likely. Dick assessed the elder Wayne carefully. He hadn’t slept, not well at least, from how he had entered. He was still in a three-piece suit from the late board meeting he had attended tonight, though rumpled from his collapse into the feather bed in the Master suite. His ebony hair mussed, Bruce’s glare was a bit ridiculous underneath, not that it mattered to the League member.

“If looks could kill, Bruce, no Black Lantern could save this waste of space,” Dick chuckled. The man squirmed at the insult, protesting before a watered down Batglare silenced him. Bruce strode over from the door, menace in every step. He stopped in front of the would-be assassin, glare undiminished.  
“I’m surprised a League of Assassins member would invade my house at 2:47 in the morning and attempt to kill my son on the orders of his mother, Talia. Could you tell me why that is,” Bruce rumbled, voice toeing the edge of Batman’s growl. The man seemed to recognize the situation he had gotten into now or at least remembered some important information about Bruce Wayne.

Though Bruce wasn’t Batman right now, he could still do serious damage without endangering his secret identity. He hadn’t hidden the fact that he had gone into serious martial arts training after his parent’s death. An intruder would be hard pressed to take the billionaire by surprise, let alone take him down. This Leaguer would know even more, as Bruce was one of the League’s best students.

“She said that Damian was not following his orders or honoring his family name, so a few of us decided, if the child was a true member of the League, he would die for disobeying orders like we do too,” he spat, hitting the ground a few inches from his Grandmaster’s bare feet. Dick hissed in fury, slamming the man to the ground, making sure to get his face in his expelled saliva. As he cried out, Dick looked to Bruce for orders. He shook his head.  
“Keep him there, Dick. I am going to start on his fingers. How important are those in your line of work, might I ask? They seem essential.” Bruce stalked behind the pair, dirt eyes following the man as far as they could. The glares between the two men was electric and hostile.

A crack filled the air as Bruce stomped on his prisoner’s left lower leg, breaking the bones inside. Dick approved. A distraction of one injury to create another somewhere else was a viable method. Not to forget the bastard attacked a child. He deserved much worse. Dick would be sure to pay him back for endangering his Owlet.


	8. Invasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An uninvited guest in the Cave decides to take what's rightfully his.  
> The Bat family is left chasing strewn feathers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) Told you it would come down once a replacement appeared.  
> Now, I'm not sure I like this chapter...took me a bit to finalize it, so I may come back and edit later...  
> I am still open to prompts or ideas from you wonderful readers if you deign to send them to me. Sorry for deleting the chapter four comments :(. I'm still new to this, so I didn't know that would happen. Please forgive me.  
> I used the internet for my research here, so please correct me if I'm wrong. Learned two tantalizing abilities of our guest there and adopted an idea from it. Maybe you guys can guess it? ;)  
> Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Damian, in his Robin gear, watched as his two “siblings”, Drake and Todd, suited up in the Cave. Richard stood next to him, dressed in his customary Nightwing outfit, bandolier of knives and his pair of escrima sticks missing. It was blue-tinged black lightweight Kevlar with a dark blue bird on his chest, wings spread in flight. Damian saw it as a good contrast to Richard’s pale, but tanned by his heritage, skin. The dark veins in his neck were difficult to see right now; the ones near his eyes nearly imperceptible, hidden even more by the domino mask. His only movement was his clawed fingers twitching against his thighs, a nervous habit from bygone days. He was getting tired of waiting, as was Damian.

What had gotten Father in such a frenzy, as to call upon Damian’s replacements? He sent a surreptitious glance towards Richard again, trying to gain his attention. Blue eyes flicked over underneath the opaque white lenses.  
“Explain this, Richard,” Damian ordered. The man only shrugged his shoulders in answer. “You don’t know either?” A nod. “-tt-. “The disgruntled sound seemed to cause a small smile to grace Richard’s face.

“I was training when Bruce stormed in,” Richard explained, then added, “I’ve been ord…he said I wasn’t to assist in the field before calling our brothers.” Damian turned to stare at his father in disbelief. Benching Richard was unacceptable. Drake had reminisced once that Richard had crashed all the chandeliers in the house (anything up in the air was at risk when Richard was in a mood) as well as destroying the training area in a futile attempt to distract himself. Drake had been laughing at the memory, Damian recalled.  
“Father,” Damian called, starting to stalk over. The man was in his full Batman armor, the heavy set meant only for unnaturally strong opponents. Strange attire, Damian noted, all of Gotham’s heavy hitters were incarcerated right now. The thought was pushed aside for now for the more important issue.  
Damian understood that Richard had angered or disappointed Father slightly, as Richard had torn that pathetic assassin apart slowly (as well as doing…something with the bats that resided deep within the Cave, but Damian wasn’t sure what exactly that implied) after Father was finished with his short interrogation a few months ago. His father hadn’t been as pleased as Damian or Richard had been at the outcome. Why was he so irked by the outcome, Damian wasn’t sure. Now his mother would be aware of the lengths the Waynes would go to protect their own. It was beneficial, but Damian digressed.

Batman turned to face his son, face impassive. Damian halted a few paces away, stance angry but restrained. He crossed his arms before speaking.  
“Why is Richard not coming,” the words caused the movements of the pair behind Batman to cease. Todd’s eyes widened as Drake froze in the motion of pulling his utility belt around his waist.  
“Why isn’t he,” Todd exclaimed, walking to Damian’s side. They watched Batman’s face for tells, but found none. Drake clipping his belt together was the only sound, a sharp *click* as the buckle locked together.

“He isn’t required on this mission; it would be more efficient to have him patrol Gotham while we solve this situation,” he answered calmly, turning to start toward the Zeta tube. “Finish suiting up and meet me at the Watch Tower.” Damian saw Richard flinch slightly at the last words. The Justice League headquarters was off limits for the man as most of the League didn’t trust the former Talon, even if said former Talon idolized them.  
Todd noticed as well, if the snarl forming on his face was anything to go by. Richard only shook his head to stop the building argument, poorly hidden dejection in his posture as he walked off towards the Bat Computer. Drake looked conflicted for a moment before chasing after his oldest brother, but not before sending a glare at Batman’s back in comradery of his brothers.

The Cave was silent afterwards, barring the distant sound of bats echoing around the pair. -Recognized: Batman, B-02- the computer broke the tense atmosphere. Todd growled before following Damian’s father, designated B-13 by the device. Damian followed soon after, ignoring the strange feeling in his stomach that felt like unease.  
When Damian arrived at the Watch Tower, the clamor of heroes greeted him. It was loud enough to drown out the computer announcing his arrival, even Red Robin’s right afterwards. They joined Red Hood and Batman near the front and saw the cause of the uproar.  
A man, similar in build and appearance to Superman, was standing in the center of this impromptu gathering. He had slicked back, black hair and wore the same ridiculous leotard with a red and yellow shield. Instead of an S, it bore the letter U, instead. He had a red belt with the same symbol on the buckle instead of those ridiculous panties Superman had worn. A smirk was playing across his chiseled face, amused by the chaos around him it seemed.

Damian glared at this man. He looked at his “siblings” to gauge their reactions to this imposter. Red Robin was discreetly studying the man, computer in his gloves working on scans and showing information in binary code to prevent any eavesdroppers. Red Hood seemed to feel the same as Damian, unease clear in his body language to the Bats around him. Batman himself seemed confused, as if something was missing. Damian saw Red Hood lean over to him.  
“What is this, Batman? You weren’t really forthwith with any information,” he hissed lowly, voice distorted by his signature helmet. Damian saw the doppelganger’s eyes flick in their direction, a strange flicker in his blue eyes. He sent a shit-eating grin back. Can’t hear us because of this idiotic rabble’s noise, can you?

“We have gotten two visitors from a different Earth, seemingly a differing dimension as well, today. This one is an alternate Superman named Ultraman,” Batman was interrupted by his trio of sons amused snickers, “and it seems an alternate Batman named Owlman.” The snickers stopped instantly.  
“So, that’s why you didn’t want Dick to come,” Red Robin inferred, “You were worried he would freak out. Where is Owlman then?”  
“I’m not sure…he was here when I left for your assistance. Superman, where is Owlman?” The alien flinched at the tone as the colony of Bats strode toward him. He shifted under the weight of their gazes.  
“He’s right over there with…oh, no,” he said. Batman snarled at his comrade. Only Damian noticed Ultraman look over at them and smile. He felt a cold dread trickle down his spine and shuddered unintentionally. Red Robin was at his side in an instant.

“Something wrong, Robin?” he asked. Damian only shook his head before responding, feeling foolish. No true Wayne or Al-Ghul would be frightened by a feeling…but Ultraman’s reaction was suspicious. It was as if he heard their conversation or at least knew what it was about.  
“I…I’m going to contact Nightwing to see if he needs assistance. It seems I am not required here,” Damian said, watching Ultraman closely for a reaction. His hand moved slightly to his belt for a second, like he had activated a communicator or panic device, before dropping his hand. Damian felt Red Robin stiffen as he saw the action as well. He murmured assent before turning to Batman, keeping his voice low. Damian pulled out his communicator, pressing the button to connect with the Cave, as it was still too early for patrol.  
The first thing he heard before he could greet his “brother” was what sounded like Richard screaming in agony before the sounds of static interrupted the call. Damian stood there for a second before dropping the device to the ground and running to the Zeta tubes as fast as possible. He ignored the calls from the heroes behind him, Batman’s stern growl of “Robin.” The only thing that mattered was getting to Richard.

Damian burst from the tube into the Cave, bat a rangs clutched between his fingers as makeshift weapons. He would have preferred a katana, truthfully. The place was surprisingly clean, excluding the blood. Blood had spattered across the improvised arena, indicated either Richard had fought back and had been injured in the attack. Damian hated how the Zeta had ruined his potential surprise attack. He went around carefully, checking every area an enemy could attack or hide. No sounds other than the bat’s echoes.  
There was no sign of Richard anywhere. Tire marks had marred the Cave’s floor and a vehicle missing. He heard the tube announce -Recognized: B-20-Red Robin as he arrived.  
“Why’d you run out?” he called as he ran towards Damian, then noticed the blood. “What the hell?” Damian scoffed before answering.

“I heard a scream then the sound cut out. My reaction was reasonable as a possible villain is missing from the Watch Tower. It seems my suspicions were well founded and now the intruder has fled. This was obvious to anyone with a brain, Drake,” Damian said, trying to ignore a mounting emotion in his chest. It felt like his heart was being squeezed. Red Robin nodded, obviously choosing ignore Damian’s jab. He walked past the child to the Bat Computer, pulling open the security feed.  
“It won’t have audio till I can access it because of the damage it has, but until then, could you watch it,” Red Robin asked, already starting the video. His fingers moved easily over the keys as he worked. Damian turned his attention to the video, secretly grateful for the distraction.

The video showed Richard pacing the Cave before freezing, head tilting like he heard something. His fingers twitched before he slunk into a crouch and slithered out of the camera’s view. One of his belts of knives slid from a table before the intruder showed himself.  
A man bedecked in armor strode in, a silver cape made of…a lightweight metal, perhaps… made to look like interlocking feathers fluttering slightly behind him. The same silver material formed his belt, gauntlets, a circular piece over his sternum, boots, and an intricate owl-styled helmet. A similar cloth to Nightwing’s made the rest of his uniform, but in a silvery-blue color. He was obviously the wayward Owlman from that ridiculous outfit. How had he gotten here, Damian wondered, if he was dressed like that?  
He went straight for the Computer, obviously interested in the device and the information contained within its hard-drives. As Owlman drew nearer to his goal, Nightwing landed heavily on his shoulders, forcing the man to his knees with the sudden weight. Owlman followed the movement by dropping to the floor, dislodging his attacker with the unexpected movement. They rolled away to face each other. Nightwing was obviously demanding what Owlman wanted and who he was, teeth bared like some trapped feral beast. Damian felt his eyes narrow at the strange reaction. His brother was rarely bothered by his opponents, but Owlman had Richard on guard already.

Owlman had frozen, his only movement was the carbon dioxide leaving his lungs in a way that was akin to getting punched in the gut. He said something to Nightwing that froze him, mask showing his eyes widening. Owlman seemed to smile, pleased but obviously confused, standing to take a step forward, but Nightwing threw a knife at him as he stood. Owlman’s smile froze before becoming a snarl as he spat a response back after dodging the projectile.  
A black knife bit into Owlman’s shoulder, easily ignoring the protective layers Owlman wore. He ripped the knife from his shoulder before tossing it down, spattering blood onto the floor. Owlman drew a gun from an unseen holster and fired.  
Drake recovered the sound right as it did, letting the pair hear Nightwing’s pained hiss as the plasma bolt hit his leg. The young man ignored his pain as he launched into a stiff attack. Owlman easily holstered the weapon to defend himself from the assault, laughing at the attempt.

Damian watched in confusion. Richard was fighting strangely now as well. Why was he so disturbed by this man? Granted, he shared the same mascot as his previous oppressors, but that didn’t explain why he was using fluid and lethal movements with no embellishments like he usually did. Drake sucked in a breath.  
“He’s trying to kill Owlman. If that last move had connected, it would have decapitated him. Maybe the Court went deeper than Bruce had thought and had their own Owlman like a master for the Talons, a second in command, as it were? That might cause Dick to regress and act like he is a Talon again. So, he’s focusing only on his opponent and not strategizing like he would with us, hence the…” Damian tuned him out as he focused on the video once more, worry snaking into his heart.

“Now, now, Talon, you know you can’t beat me fighting like this,” Owlman’s voice sounded condescending, like Nightwing was just a disobedient child. Damian grit his teeth at the tone. He had heard the same tone many times from the individuals in his life, mostly from adults thinking his was an arrogant child in need of punishment. Nightwing didn’t seem to appreciate it either, if his next move was anything to go by. His right hand slammed into the helm, marring the left side, and scratching the glass lens.  
Owlman seemed surprised at that. “You didn’t receive the last dosage of serum? Well, that can be remedied shortly, don’t worry, I always carry a syringe for interrogations; the process is quite agonizing for those not prepared for it with electrum. “He dodged the next attack, grabbing the back of Nightwing’s neck, and slamming him into the ground despite the effort to free himself. “Now, my Talon,” at the word, Nightwing shuddered bodily and the reaction made Owlman smile coldly, “Do you not enjoy your true title, Gray Son?” A pained sound escaped Richard’s throat at that as his movements stopped, seemingly against his will. “Well, you’ll get used to it. Now, let’s finish this.”

With those words, Owlman snapped Richard’s neck as easily as a bird’s wing. Both Damian and Timothy flinched, though they knew their brother would heal from the injury. Owlman drew a syringe from his belt and inserted it gently into Richard’s neck. There was no reaction from Richard, Damian noted with concern, other than his eyes turning into an agonized yellow. “This will be painful, my Talon, but it will make you a perfect replacement. Remember it’s for your own good.”  
He left Richard on the ground to scream in agony as he hacked the Computer. He went through the files quickly, (indicating a higher intellect than most humans, Damian concluded) before opening the feed of the cameras and turning them off with a click. The two brothers turned toward each other as the Zeta announced the arrival of Red Hood.

“The fuck happened in here?!”


	9. Talon-napping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick had no idea what was going on.  
> This man knew his name was Richard John Gray Son.  
> This man was an Owl.  
> This man was the kind of Grandmaster Dick had before Bruce.  
> Dick couldn't fight him at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA HA HAAAA! :D  
> Another chapter has arrived but I still am not sure I like it DX...  
> This seems to be a trend with me, so please inform me how to improve it :).  
> Still would love ideas for this, but as a warning to you, I may be posting "flashback" chapters for a bit to build this universe instead of continuing this arc. I know, I am a horrible person, but I kinda want to explain why the JLA is opposed to Dick.  
> Tell me how to improve/continue! Thanks for reading :)!

Dick was immobile and screaming and he hated it. He could ignore the freezing, burning agony coursing through his arteries, veins, and capillaries. Pain he could deal with, had done so for years, emotional, physical, and mental pain was easy to push past for the greater good. The screaming was a natural reaction to his body’s nerves being overloaded with pain, so he could ignore that too (even if the sound was hurting his throat and truthfully getting annoying.) It was the lack of movement while still fully aware of his surroundings that terrified him. It was just like the Court had dug their metaphorical talons into him yet again, forcing Dick into a coffin to freeze until his services were required once again or when they had wanted entertainment. The Gray Son of Gotham, the Court’s perfect weapon, their perfect hunting falcon. (Only Timothy knew of how Dick had snuck into the Watch Tower, found his frozen fellow Talons, and beheaded them all as gently and quickly as possible to allow them to finally rest. Tim had hacked the Tower’s cameras to erase the evidence afterwards, his kind and intelligent younger brother.) This metal feathered fiend knew his title, had claimed to be Dick’s master. He was wrong in that idea and Dick longed to prove it.

Dick hated how the Court had turned his name into a hated title. He had been proud of his father’s last name, Grayson (it was bright smiles and warm nights, flying and Zitka) until his great-grandfather had explained it’s true meaning (blood and betrayal, lost love and vengeance.) He was destined to be a Talon when he was born, forced to become Gotham’s Gray Son, leading the corrupted city under the Court’s tattered wings.  
The silver alloy of the man’s cape clinked every time he moved as he hacked into the Computer. Dick still couldn’t move as much as he tried to. Broken bones, especially the spine (central nervous system, heal or be useless to the Court), had always healed slowly and Dick had never despised it much until now. His family’s safety was endangered, but he was powerless to stop this man from desecrating his home. What if Alfred came down? The elderly man would be easily killed, no matter how skilled he was at improvising weapons out of cleaning implements!

“I thought your voice would’ve given out by now, Talon, but you continue to shatter my expectations,” the owl purred, soft and menacing, as his fingers tapped the keyboard. “Your spine should heal soon, but don’t even attempt to attack me. You will fail and have to be punished, I don’t wish to do that.” Dick hissed in answer as his spine finally clicked together. He paid no attention to the abnormal recovery (his record, until now, was thirty minutes with any spinal injury) and rolled to his feet. Dick didn’t move past that however, frozen in place by a look from the owl-man. Piercing blue eyes behind tinted glass glared at him, daring him to move further.  
That was how Bruce looked when upset with Dick, cold and remote glaciers of icy disappointed fury. That look was reserved for Grandmaster Wayne when he discovered the dead League member’s armor with the vampire bats deep within the Cave’s freezing, pitch black bowels. Dick cowered from that look unconsciously, a bolt of fear shooting downwards through his newly intact spine. The Owl-man’s eyes never changed as he smiled with satisfaction like a starving Killer Croc in front of a helpless civilian screaming for mercy.

Dick wanted mercy so badly. This man was too similar to his Grandmaster and the Court for Dick to fight adequately against him. He suddenly felt despair crash over his body. He had failed in his one simple task of defending his Nest from those who wished to harm his family. He dropped his gaze from the Owlman in deference. What other use did he have than a killer if he couldn’t fulfill his own goals?  
The Justice League had been correct, there was no place in their heroic ranks for a Talon, no matter how hard Dick had tried to prove to the heroes he could change. He had even chosen the Kryptonian legend Nightwing as his alias to show he could change and reshape himself into a hero, but Superman had only shaken his head and reluctantly agreed as the others behind him stared in disbelief. Dick ignored how the memory made his heart ache. A trained and experienced weapon was not what innocents hoped to be saved by. They would only look with hope to someone like that in Blüdhaven, where there were barely any innocents to begin with.

Then Dick thought of how happy his little Owlet had looked (even half hidden with feigned abrasiveness and disdain) when he had received the collection of bright acrylic paint Dick had given him. The young boy had run off afterwards to put them to good use. How Timothy always seemed happier when Dick quietly read with him as Tim worked on his essays with quiet classical music in the background in the sunlit library. Jason patrolling in Blüdhaven, guns blazing as they both flew with the greatest of ease to let the citizens rest easy at night knowing they were safe.  
How all three of his younger brothers unwittingly wore his mother’s name for her son, Robin, with pride as they fought to give the world hope. He had promised himself he would never be controlled against his will again, but here Dick was, happily fluttering into a figurative cage once again! A strange feeling bubbled in Dick’s heart, choking him, and making his eyes prickle. He shoved it away for an easier emotion to understand, a burning fury that rose like a circus tent in Dick’s chest at how easily he had given up on them. They had never deserted Dick when he needed them, but as soon as the fight became difficult, Dick quailed.

How dare Dick doubt himself for a moment when his family had always stood by him? Dick hadn’t stopped breathing; he could still fight for them as long as he had life in his body. A plan began to form slowly in the back of Dick’s mind. Tim definitely wouldn’t approve of such an uncertain plan, but Dick didn’t have many options at the moment. Play at the submissive and obedient Talon till his family could find them, preferably before he was forced to return to this alternate Earth. Dick refocused on the Owl-man as he began speaking again reluctantly, wishing he had more time to plan.  
“Oh, Talon, don’t despair. When we return with that super powered idiot, Ultraman, to our own Earth, you won’t have to suffer through interacting with pathetic ‘heroes’ themed after flying rodents and their disillusioned rouge followers.” The man walked to Dick to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. Dick barely suppressed a shudder of revulsion at the touch. The grating sound of scraping metal was ignored as Owlman continued. “We rule Gotham with an iron grip once more and that pathetic gathering of villains, the Crime Syndicate of Amerika, are easily controlled as well. All I will need you to do is follow my orders.”

Dick nodded as he slid his fingers into Owlman’s belt and placed a GPS tracker Tim and Bruce had made together inside. The villain didn’t notice a thing, turning toward Bruce’s vehicle collection, and Dick felt a feral smile form. An Owl was nothing without its’ Talons, no matter what Earth they originated from. Bats were much better by far. He activated his own tracker in his gauntlet just for a contingency before following the man. He schooled his face before speaking, wincing at the hoarse rasp. Dick wished he had some of Alfred’s tea with honey right about now; his throat was killing him.  
“I have two questions, sir, if you would honor me to answer them.” Dick saw the satisfied smile on the man’s face. Groveling always worked with arrogant villains, Dick had found, and it seemed to hold true now. “What was in the syringe you gave me and what shall I call you?” The villain paused in hot wiring a Corvette to answer. Dick had to say, he looked ridiculous next to the sleek burgundy machine.

“That was the final dosage of the Talon Serum. It will give you enhanced speed, strength, and stamina while boosting your regenerative ability to make you nigh immortal. I haven’t discovered a way to implement it to individuals without prior electrum treatment, so regrettably, I don’t have the same abilities. Don’t think that this gives you an advantage, however, as I have a superior intellect to any humans on both Earths. As for what to call me, my name is Thomas Wayne Jr., but you, my Talon, can call me either Owlman, master, or sir.”

The Corvette purred as he connected its exposed wires together. Dick walked to the rumbling machine as Owlman smoothly slid into the driver’s seat. When he looked over at Dick, he sent a smile towards the man, thinking on how pleasing Owlman’s defeat against his family would be. Dick settled uneasily into the passenger side chair, wrinkling his nose as the leather seat squeaked in protest. He didn’t like being this close to the man, senses calling a warning. “I’m sorry, Talon, but my…partner,” he spat the word like poison before continuing, “has pressed his panic button to warn me of an incoming problem. I will have to freeze you to prevent any unruly behavior on your part. You understand.” Before Dick could move, a metal glove grabbed his neck to hold it still before another needle slid in as he shuddered. The thin metal tube was freezing as it released its similarly cold contents into Dick’s bloodstream. Dick hissed at the feeling, claws scratching against the metal glove against his neck in an instinctual defense. “It’s liquid nitrogen so you will be incapacitated for a time, but don’t worry, you won’t miss the Syndicate subjugating your world.” The last thing Dick truly recalled before his blood became red ice and killed him was the screech of Corvette tires as the Zeta tube hummed to life.


	10. Driving Around at the Speed of Sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owlman's got places to go; he's gotta follow that malicious rainbow...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sonic, why have you forsaken me?...  
> Two chapters in one morning?! Awesome :D!  
> Owlman's is a short little asshole chapter, though...oh well, THE PLOT PROGRESSES (at a sloth's pace)!  
> As always, thanks for reading/commenting/kudos.

Owlman glanced over at his newest acquisition as he drove (i.e. sped) down Gotham’s congested streets. He was trying to rationalize his decision of taking the young man with him. Thomas rarely, if ever, acted on his emotions, preferring the rational logic he usually employed. This was not in line with his usual reactions to surprising circumstances like finding his original Talon dismembered and gift wrapped.

Thomas had apparently underestimated how much he had missed his lost Talon. The boy had been perfect, save for his actions after he had discovered the truth of his parent’s death. He had then acted irrationally (similarly to Thomas’ current actions, really), fleeing from his home and his master, straight into The Jokester’s demented clutches.  
Thomas reflected on this development in relation to his goal. If this Richard was anything like his own, he would be extremely loyal to his “family” and willing to do anything for them. At least, if the Batman had conditioned him correctly, Richard would be that loyal. This would prove to be a problem as his master plan progressed further as the boy would try to oppose the Syndicate at every opportunity because it was a threat to said individuals. He had already seen the boy activate some sort of device, most likely a tracker, in his glove. Thomas had countered that with a small and controlled EMP burst aimed towards the armored article of clothing while driving from the Cave.

Thomas was disappointed in his vigilante counterpart. It seemed his children were more intellectually inclined and had received better training as well. His facilities were extremely sub-par compared to Owlman’s own Roost back in Earth-3. He knew this Bruce Wayne a.k.a Batman was a wealthy and capable man, but he chose to assist the lesser off and useless rabble in Gotham instead of taking advantage of them and ruling the city with an iron fist to purify it of any criminal activity. A thing he had done correctly was train the Justice League. Indeed, the entire League was vastly superior to the Syndicate if you compared their teamwork and overall intelligence. It was obviously Wayne’s doing, the entire group of heroes had shrunk back in fear as Batman strode past them, ebony mantle waving behind him theatrically. That computer was the only thing his counterpart had that was truly impressive created solely by Wayne, though.

It had contained everything required for the plans eventual success. From the League’s weaknesses to Batman’s own, it had given him an amazing amalgamation of information that automatically updated itself to constantly be as precise as possible. Thomas felt a cruel smile spread across his face. Once he reunited with Ultraman, the production of the portal could begin.  
However, Thomas digressed. The matter at hand was keeping his new Talon in line. He already had a working theory. From the way Richard had reacted to his title ‘Gray Son’, Thomas could conclude that Richard had been conditioned to follow orders under that name. He had since tried to distance himself from the two words, but was unsuccessful. Also, Thomas could play off that hubris of loyalty all Talons seemed to share and use his “family” against him. Anyways, he always had an even better trump card if his theories didn't seem to work.  
This was just too easy, really. He would be disappointed, but Thomas hadn’t expected too much resistance to begin with. Anyways, he now had a Talon to replace his failure of an original and this time he wouldn’t lose him.


	11. Tracking a Talon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason didn't really expect the blood on the floor.  
> It felt like a desecration of the Cave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOO HOOO, another chapter! Sorry it took a bit (I've sliced it in half to try and make it easier to focus on) I couldn't pin down my ideas.  
> If you haven't noticed, I have put up a depressing oneshot. I have died on the inside. Blame LEGO Batman for making me think about it. Good movie, I liked it and couldn't stop laughing :).  
> Hope you enjoy both of these. Also, I realized I forgot an important point that I added in the Owlman chapter that he refers to as a “trump card.” To just tell you here would ruin this chapter a teensy bit sooo.

Jason had not expected the puddles of blood on the Cave’s floor. He had seen Damian run from the Watch Tower like a bat out of hell (pun intended) and followed Red Robin out of curiosity. He said the first thing that came to mind when he materialized from the Zeta.  
“The fuck happened in here?” Damian let a -tt- that Jason read as ‘I am aware of the actions perpetrated here; but I won’t tell you so investigate it yourself since you were trained by my father.’ Jason rolled his eyes, which were still hidden behind his mask. The Cave was obviously compromised, so codenames it was till Bruce deemed it safe. “Red Robin, will you tell me anything and where’s…shit.” Damian let out another -tt- as it dawned on Jason. He may have deserved that one a tiny bit.

Dick was gone. That explains Damian’s non-answer at least. Jason walked over to the bloodstains to investigate. Most of them looked like normal bloodstains, so it was the attackers, not Dick’s. Jason felt a slight relief at that. Dick’s blood seemed almost black because of all the electrum and other Talon Serum shit floating around in the plasma. There wasn’t that much blood on the ground when he looked past the fact that there was blood in the BatCave. The fight hadn’t lasted long, it seemed, or it had been more of a psychologically driven altercation. Jason frowned. Tim broke through Jason’s contemplation.  
“Well, Hood, Owlman knows where the Cave is, probably because he is an alternate Batman and his base is in the same location, invaded to steal information from the Bat Computer, and did so. He has also kidnapped Nightwing for an unknown reason.” Jason rose from his crouch to join him at the console. Tim had pulled a map of Gotham up which had a blinking Owl symbol for Owlman’s location. Jason snorted in amusement at that. “Nightwing was apparently able to place a tracker on the man that I labeled, but his own has been deactivated, most likely a directed EMP. Owlman stole a Corvette to travel down the highway towards Metropolis or Star City.”

“Can I watch the security footage or was that destroyed in the security breach?”

“I was able to restore it up to when Owlman disables the cams and Robin is reviewing them again, so yes. I’ll inform Batman of the situation as you do,” as Tim finished, he walked from his brothers for a quieter spot near the cars. Jason strolled over to the youngest bat to watch over his shoulder.  
He watched as Owlman snapped his brother’s neck and recoiled mentally at the sound. Damian himself flinched slightly. The kid was obviously trying to ignore his own feelings on the matter like Bruce did. Damian restarted the video for Jason’s benefit. They watched in silence till Jason noticed something.  
“Hey, Robin. Nightwing’s reaction to his last name…that’s more than conditioning and association. Could Owlman be a meta with mental power ability,” Jason asked as they watched the footage. Jason had seen his older brother react to his last name before. It always led to him running away and sequestering himself in his room and a nest or hiding in the rafters, shivering. He had never frozen like that before. Damian tilted his head slightly, a bit like Dick did, and Jason was glad his helmet hid his amused smile.

“It is possible, but he seemed proud of the fact that he is human, just like Batman is. It is more likely that it is a type of hypnosis. I have read of such a technique called Mental Domination in the League’s library. It stated that the hypnosis only worked on weakened opponents, however, and it had a low success rate. You also have to have prolonged eye contact with the target.,” Damian answered haughtily. Jason remembered that book. It had gone into disturbing detail about the potential uses of the ability. Jason’s eyes widened.  
Jason rewound the footage to when Dick had suddenly frozen as Owlman stared at him. Damian sucked in a quiet breath as he came to the same conclusion. “That could be the technique ensnaring Nightwing, as he was compromised as soon as he ascertained who his enemy truly was. His enemy is also from a differing earth, so they could have perfected the technique, especially if he is more intelligent than an average human! Hood, you are not as stupid as I assumed you were.” Damian crowed as he dashed over to Tim to share their findings as Jason finished the video again.

“High praise, Robin,” Jason teased. A -tt- was his answer. “I think we need to move out in the Batwing. Ask Bats for the all clear, Double R. He can meet us there.” Jason heard a long-suffering sigh from Tim before his brother relayed their findings.  
“Let’s hunt down and hurt a bad birdy.”


	12. Regression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trained falcon is hooded till its service is required.  
> Bruce had forgotten an owl was a bird of prey as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. Sorry for the wait.
> 
> Does anyone read these or is it just me?

Batman was flying to his son’s location in Metropolis as fast as the Batwing could fly. They had sent the Batwing back to the Cave with coordinates set for Luthor’s building. As the jet sliced through the air, he contacted Superman and Flash. They would need assistance as soon as metahumanly possible. It seemed they were attempting to seize the high ground. For what Batman wasn’t sure, but his working theory was that their plan was to invade after they freed their allies from Earth 3. Flash answered the Watch Tower communication, the other JLA members meandering in the background in a low-key panic.  
“Batman! Did you find them,” he shot out the question almost too fast to understand. This gained attention and Batman almost snarled. He didn’t have time for this. His sons were chasing a compromised Talon. The thought of Dick hurting his brothers made Bruce shudder.

“My allies did. Track our positions to Metropolis. A word of warning, the villains have compromised Nightwing. Flash, Superman, J’onn, and Diana, I need you here as fast as possible,” Batman growled. They murmured consent before cutting the feed off. Just as well, Metropolis was rising from the horizon. The shining and safe city Superman patrolled. Dick had always wanted to visit as a civilian, to see a non-corrupt accumulation of humans. They had been planning one before this absolute shit-show.  
The Batwing sliced the air like one of Damian’s katanas, sharp and quick. Batman saw an ominous neon-blue glow from above Luthor’s building as he approached. It pulsed and ebbed in an irregular pattern, light bleeding from the anomaly. It seemed that his theory had been correct (as per usual,) Earth-3 wanted more allies from their own world and had made a portal to do so. Lex Luthor’s building was the tallest one in the West Coast, along with the added bonus of having useful gadgets Luthor had created. Luthor’s employee’s, along with the billionaire himself, were standing outside staring up at the light. Batman knew the bald man was intrigued, but knew better than to interfere…for now. This would have serious repercussions that Bruce didn’t want to think of right now.

The Batwing slowed, stopping above the roof of the building. Batman assessed the situation as he exited the vehicle. Ultraman and Owlman stood next to a massive LexCorp control panel. The villains had forced a satellite dish (along with a plethora of other odds and ends Batman didn’t have time to identify) onto the panel, from which a blue beam of light shot toward the sky, creating the pulsing portal. Owlman was tinkering with the contraption as Ultraman glared as Batman’s sons. Dick was standing to the side, silent and still as a gargoyle. His eldest didn’t even seem to be breathing anymore.

“Look, all we want is for you bastards to return Nightwing after you remove the mind voodoo you put him under and then fuck right on back to your own dimension,” Red Hood spat. Batman’s children were standing in a line together, weapons drawn. A silent intimidation tactic that Bruce remembered teaching the Robins.

“What if my little bird wishes to stay with me? Have you thought of that, children,” Owlman taunted, not turning to see their reaction. Damian spat at that, lifting his katana higher in warning.

“Like Rich…Nightwing would ever return with you willingly. Why don’t you release him from your hypnosis and ask him yourself,” Damian retorted. His emotions were clouding his judgement if he had fumbled a name in the field like that. That made Owlman turn to face them, which is when he noticed Batman. A dark chuckle escaped the villain.

“Talon, why don’t you…entertain our guests?” That was all Dick needed to slide into a defensive position in front of Owlman. His brothers didn’t recognize the stance, but Bruce did. Dick was going to play with them, a deadly “owl and bat” hunt, as Dick had called what he had done to Bruce in the Court’s Labyrinth. Damian was the first to instinctively cower at the dead look in his brother’s eyes behind the mask. Jason was second, seeing death in the sinuous movement Dick made. Tim was the only one to see the desperate light behind Dick’s eyes, behind the empty blue. He murmured to his brothers and they looked to Bruce for guidance.  
Dick allowed a feral grin to crawl over his blank face. Just like when they fought in the Court’s hellish labyrinth (when Bruce had encountered the assassin for the first time) and Bruce felt a terrible emotion fill his heart. Fear of his own child. He instantly slid in front of his other children in response of the feeling, ignoring their quiet question. This was a Talon, not their brother Nightwing, and they couldn’t handle fighting that. They had never seen a true, trained Talon really, Dick had come so far after living at the Manor, training obsessively in non-lethal forms. Right now, Dick would rip them into shreds if they engaged. Bruce couldn’t handle them getting harmed like that if they tried to assist in taking him down.

“Red Hood, lead the Robins in an attack against Owlman and Ultraman to prevent that portal from opening while I take care of Nightwing,” he ordered, not turning to look at them. They tried to protest, but he raised a hand to silence them before they were voiced. “That portal cannot be allowed to open of we will most likely be overrun before the League has a chance to get here. Superman and others are on their way, but their ETA is unknown.” After a slight hesitation, Batman heard them scatter. He then focused wholly on the Talon in front of him.  
He was now lazily flipping a throwing knife end over end, catching it by the blade with pinpoint precision. Batman began to circle his opponent slowly as he assessed. Talon mirrored the motion with fluid grace, not once dropping the blade. The knife was tossed at his right eye without warning. As he dodged the projectile and shaving a bit from the side of his cowl, three more sheathed themselves in his left leg, one dangerously close to his patellar tendon.  
Batman returned the favor with a Cryorang, a Batarang specifically made for defeating Talons that Bruce had hoped would stay decommissioned after the Court’s fall. He was glad he hadn’t destroyed the blueprints like he had originally planned once Clayface had slid into Gotham. Now they would fufill their original design once more. The weapon bit into Talon’s left subscapularis muscle while also deeply scraping his clavicle before exploding with liquid helium. His son screeched in primal terror as he realized what Batman had done, ripping it from his body frantically with no concern to the damage the action or weapon would do to his body. He had been more focused on the freezing aspect of the   
projectile, Batman supposed. The wounds closed quickly, however, and Batman narrowed his eyes, cowl lenses following the movement.

Batman retrieved another Cryorang as the Talon reassessed his opponent. They were his best chance at defeating his son with the lowest risk of gaining an injury. He heard one of his other sons yell an inquiry to his health and he answered tersely that he ‘was fine, focus on your own opponents’. Talon had taken advantage of his distracted opponent to attack with a spinning kick that collided with Batman’s shoulder. The force of the attack dropped the black-clad man to a knee with a pained grunt. The sliver of confusion wormed deeper into his mind at that, but was shoved aside. Batman retaliated by grabbing Talon’s extended leg with his left hand, bringing down his right arm’s elbow down hard on the trapped appendage. The crack of a complete fracture sounded in the air as Batman slammed the young man to the ground with the rest of their combined momentum.  
Talon gasped involuntarily as he collided with the earth, winded and in pain. Before Batman could pin his opponent down, strong legs wrapped around his neck in an extremely tight chokehold, giving no thought to the agony it caused his broken leg. Batman cursed breathlessly before his head was slammed into the ground with enough force to make the world flash a reddish white for a moment. He was quickly returned to clarity by the Talon drawing another knife. Batman twisted on instinct from the blade which also broke the chokehold, luckily. The blade slammed deep into the ground next to his face, sheathed to the hilt from the force of the attack, instead of his face.  
Batman couldn’t remember Dick this strong or agile before. Not to mention that his healing factor was obviously higher now since his leg seemed fully healed now. What had Owlman done to his son? He watched as Talon wrenched the silver blade from the ground before looking to his prey again. Talon’s blank blue eyes shifted to a horrified gold for a second, body going stock still. Bruce began to rise at his opponent’s hesitation, wondering at the sudden change.

The pause in the fight let Batman notice The Flash and Superman join the fight. Barry slammed into Owlman, channeling the momentum from running into a powerful sucker punch. Owlman crumpled, groaning. His helm was crumpled on one side, so Owlman had been defeated. The move seemed to coincide with Dick’s hesitation, perhaps he was free of the hypnosis? Superman mirrored the same attack in mid-air to easily stun Ultraman, but the villain shook off the blow with a feral snarl. J’onn and Wonder Woman were there to support Superman, though, so Ultraman was hard-pressed to escape. Timothy ran to the control panel as Damian zip-tied Owlman’s wrists (it seemed he was trying to cut off the man’s circulation with how tight they were.) The concussive pounding from the supers provided a bass line to the bustle of Metropolis below. Jason was trying to sneak behind Talon as Flash went to Timothy.  
Talon noticed Jason from the corner of his eye and hissed. Jason answered with a low snarl like he had as Robin. Batman had to suppress a smile at the memory. Dick threw a knife at Jason in response. As Jason dodged, Bruce threw the Cryorang.  
Dick caught it by the wing and deactivated the mechanism swiftly. Jason and Bruce froze at the movement. Jason tried to fire at his brother, but Dick threw a knife into the barrel, causing it to jam. Jason threw it down as it sparked in his gloved hand.

“That won’t work on me twice,” Talon’s voice was gentle in the reprimand as hidden eyes slid to Owlman. His next words were frigid, “Thomas Wayne Jr., Talon, the Gray Son of Gotham has sentenced you to die.” Dick strode over to the bound man. Owlman was trying to slide away from the younger male, eyes barely focused. Dick crouched to his level and lifted the villain’s head gently with a clawed glove under his chin. Dick’s smile was beatific. Bruce began to stride forward to stop a murder. “Have I shattered your expectations? Has Talon pleased its Grandmaster?” Before Owlman could answer, a clawed hand drew a knife. Dick then lovingly slid it between the ribs into Owlman’s left lung. Bruce froze, eyes widening as Dick then began to drag open the wound slowly. Bruce reached for his son. Dick only ripped the blade from his prey and darted away.

They were left with a swiftly dying man, a captured Ultraman, and an echoing sob of a laugh.


	13. Comforting Richard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian was going to find Richard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooooooot! Sorry for posting this after Spring Break, but I wanted to have a small break from writing.  
> Thanks for reading ^.^!

Damian ignored his father’s frantic first aid for Owlman. Who cared about him; the man was dead. Richard knew his craft and had dragged open the wound as he dodged Batman’s lunge. There was no saving the metal-clad villain. He disregarded the League’s capture of Ultraman. He was focused on how Red Robin had thrown a bolo at Flash. The weighted line tangled around the spandex covered legs and bowled the man over. The crimson speedster had tried to chase after Richard. Jason and Damian stalked over to the trapped speedster who was glaring in disbelief at the trio.

“Let me go before more people are killed,” he said calmly, obviously trying to hide his confused rage. His legs vibrated uselessly in his specially made trap. Father had made the bolo specifically for speed oriented metahumans. Damian felt a flash of familial pride before he refocused on their prisoner. “Nightwing is obviously a danger to civilians right now. I can’t let him free-run in Metropolis like this.”

Drake frowned at the reasoning. Damian lunged for the captive male, but was slammed to the ground by Todd. Red Robin looked over to Batman, but he was staring at the blood on his black gauntlets. No help from that quarter then. Sometimes Damian was disappointed in his father’s strong moral convictions.  
“Release me, Hood! He needs to pay for the slander he is spewing,” Damian yelled, wriggling like a pinned crocodile. He snapped white teeth dangerously close to Todd’s protected face.

“What if something happened to Iris?!” Todd hissed, “You’d do anything to protect her, right? That’s what ‘Wing is doing.” Flash looked as scandalized as a gasping and tied man could. Damian wriggled from Todd’s grasp. He bounced lightly on his feet as Jason stepped back. The trio waited for an answer quietly. Flash stuttered for a minute before his mouth caught up with his brain. Damian was losing patience. The longer they waited, the harder it would be to find Richard. He growled low in his throat.  
“I wouldn’t kill anyone, let alone in such a painful way!”

“HE DOESNT KNOW BETTER! Nightwing was taught for years and subsequently rewarded for murdering people. Afterwards, Batman hasn’t truly been able to eradicate that conditioning, but changed the…direction of it. He was told only to have one goal, to protect us. The only way to do so in a permanent manner is murder in Nightwing’s eyes. Owlman was a higher threat than normal because he had an evil Justice League ready to raze our planet. This is forgoing the fact Owlman probably dredged up flashbacks from the Court. I don’t claim to know why he ran, but I certainly know that Nightwing doesn’t deserve the bullshit you and the League put him through,” Drake retorted. Then they heard Batman yell.

“SUPERMAN!” The alien was speeding off. Damian shot a grapple and latched onto the man’s leg, the bat-shaped metal hooking around the metal rope tightly. Todd gripped the grapple gun as well to hitch a ride. It also ensured Damian’s grip wouldn’t fail him halfway through the flight, Damian noted with an annoyed huff. Drake dashed off to assist Batman’s attempts to close the portal as his brothers were jerked into the air.

“Baby Bat, if you tumbled to your death trying to help Dick it would shatter him,” Todd yelled over the roaring wind. Before Damian could reply he added, “This is experience talking. Don’t you remember that footage I showed you?” Damian conceded to the point. He had seen the footage after Todd’s demise. Nightwing had stalked Joker for months, learning his routine, habits, everything about the man before leading him into the Court’s Labyrinth.

The only thing concrete on that footage was that Richard had kept singing one song over and over (Tonight you Belong To Me by Patience and Prudence, Damian recalled) and had driven Joker to even further madness with the possessive and repetitive lyrics before killing him. The cable connecting the pair to Superman twitched. Their heads snapped upwards and saw surprised and annoyed blue eyes staring back at them. Superman slowed and then began to hover over a concrete, gravel covered rooftop.  
“Boys, let me go. Nightwing is a danger to the civilian population right now. Please release my leg, I don’t want you to get hurt if your grip fails and you both fall,” Superman said calmly. He shook his leg slightly to try and force them to move. They only tightened their grip. Superman sighed heavily at the determination on Damian’s masked visage. Superman lowered them to the rooftop, soon joining them on the roof. Todd pulled out a small device, similar looking to a cell phone, and reading the information on it. He covertly showed Damian as Superman approached. It showed a pacing dark blue dot on the thirteenth floor of the building the trio were on. Todd had been tracking Richard and he was beneath them. Damian had to beat back the delighted grin that threatened to break free. Damian loved when his brothers showed their worth to his father’s crusade.  
“Nightwing isn’t a danger to innocent lives. Have your ears finally failed you after Lois has screamed in them so much? There have been no screams of terror or agony. This quite obviously because they have not been attacked. Nightwing hasn’t attacked civilians since his Talon days and those memories torment him to this day. It doesn’t help that most of the Justice League of America remind him he has killed each time they see him. Wonder Woman’s one of the only ones who are nice to him and that’s only because she knows what he’s going through,” Todd said. His voice changer made it sound as if he was growling. Superman frowned in consternation as his wish wasn’t followed. Damian had lost interest in this; Richard needed him. It was time to repay his brother for his continual kindness. Damian slipped from the roof unnoticed by the now arguing pair.  
He carefully clambered down the wall to a closed and tinted glass window, which Damian proceeded to smash open. A startled screech responded from deep inside the room. Damian slid into the room, eyes adjusting to the gloomy room. Damian assessed his surroundings quickly.

It was drowning in Court paraphernalia, he noted with disgust. A golden set of Talon armor stood solemnly at attention at the wall, a large gong with the Court’s Owl symbol hanging near it. Yellowed maps of Gotham were curling off the walls, the glue and tape long lost their sticky grip on the walls. Scattered manila folders bled aged papers, the inked information illegible after years of neglect. There were other items in the room, but Damian could only focus on Richard. Well…his eyes at least.  
They were almost luminescent yellow in the dark corner he had sequestered himself into. The shadows were dark enough to hide the silhouette of Richard’s body. When Damian took a step forward, Richard hissed in warning before his eyes betrayed confusion. It was if he was unsure how to react to his smallest brother and Damian faltered. Richard wasn’t to blame for his actions…right? He had been under hypnosis. That didn’t explain his strange actions, however. Hypnosis was not mind control and Richard had attacked Father, something that hypnosis shouldn’t (wouldn’t) have been able to do. He shook of the sudden doubt he had felt. Richard was innocent and Damian was sure of it.  
“Richard…you were under hypnotism, a powerful type called Mental Domination. Any actions you committed were not your own. Stop wallowing in this…” Damian’s nose wrinkled as he gazed around the room again, “mausoleum and return to the cave with me so this…incident can be put behind us.” Richard didn’t even twitch at Damian’s words, gold eyes unwavering as he replied.

“Damian,” Damian almost flinched at his own name. Richard rarely called him by name nowadays. “I’m fully aware my actions were my own doing, but I appreciate you trying to deny the fact.” Damian took a defiant step forward, outrage bubbling in his throat at his words being brushed off, but Richard ignored him. “In following Owlman, hypnotism or not, I willingly placed myself in a mentally conflicting position despite my better judgement. I slid into Talon’s thought’s like a long lost and beloved jacket. The separation between these two sides of me has always been blurry and I willingly made it even more murky. I can’t go to the Cave or the Manor, I endanger you all because I can’t figure out if I’m Talon or Richard. I can’t risk hurting any of you because I can’t remember I care about you.”  
Damian’s brother sounded so damn tired. Damian loathed it immediately. The child ignored Richard’s words and strode over to his shaded corner. He crouched in front of his eldest sibling, removing his mask as he did so. It revealed Damian’s swirling emotions; confusion, hurt, anger, but most importantly they showed genuine care for the man in front of him. Damian was sure now that Richard was innocent. Guilty people ran from confrontations. This was only Richard’s own self-doubt voicing itself and Damian was going to squash it.

“You would never forget about how much you care for us, you idiot. The way you act, like an obsessed, overexcited puppy or an overbearing mother hen, it would be a miracle if you ignored us for an hour, let alone a day.” Damian argued. Richard let a small, unidentifiable, desperate sound, hands twitching forward like he wanted to crush Damian to his chest.

“Richard, if you don’t hug me right now I will be forced to order you to do so,” before the halfhearted threat even finished, Damian found himself pressed tight into Richard’s chest. He dutifully ignored the small drops of salty water that tapped on the top of his head. He didn’t note Richard’s quiet hitched breathing. He only focused on how right it felt to comfort his big brother. Damian felt a satisfied smile grace his face.

“I don’t deserve you, but I’m so glad you think I do,” Richard whispered. Damian scoffed.

“Stop being an idiot and help me rescue Todd from Superman. They were too busy arguing to find you. Then we will return to the Manor and obtain cookies from Pennyworth.” Damian got a few soft chuckles at that before they left the Court’s shaded tomb for the sunny rooftops once more.


	14. Snapshots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short little memories of better and worse times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know most of you want me to continue Owlman, but I suddenly had these two tiny stories appear in my headspace.  
> One is cute, the other depressing as hell...in my opinion at least.  
> I'm sorry in advance. Hope you enjoy 

Bruce’s sons were watching Star Wars in the den. Dick had octopussed his way into the middle of their gathering on the couch. He looked like he would be purring like a warmed, content feline, eyes a pleased blue in defense from the flashing lights onscreen. Jason was on Dick’s left, a large bowl halfway filled with warm, perfectly popped popcorn. Tim on the right, TV remote in his lap, was explaining the story to Damian, who had been pulled into Dick’s lap to become a warm, “disgruntled” captive.  
Alfred smiled at the sight. It was truly delightful to see them spending time together without preforming illegal activities like vigilantism. He brought out a bowl of popcorn for Tim, placing it softly as all four of them glanced over and smiled.  
“Thanks, Alfred,” they chorused cheerily. Alfred smiled right back.

BREAK LINE FOR THE NEXT SNAPSHOT :D

Only Damian and Dick were there when he came in from the Zeta, obviously ready to assist the JLA at a moment’s notice, costumes on and belts near the tube to grab on the way out. Clark felt his heavy heart sink even further from its proper place, the object in his hands (which were behind his back to hide it.) The pair were playing hide and seek as they waited, it seemed. Dick was climbing around the robotic dinosaur’s mouth before jumping to the ground to greet their new guest.  
“Why is you here? You are to be assisting Batman in the battle against Darksied. Do you require our assistance,” Damian asked from near the large computer, wriggling from his hiding place (Clark didn’t really want to know where he came from) before joining the two adults near the tube. The small Robin was covered in dust, black hair now gray with it. Dick huffed out a silent chuckle as he ruffled his hair, sending the particles everywhere as Damian complained half-heartedly.  
“He has been defeated, Robin, but…” Clark watched as Dick’s slightly tense body straightened into a taut violin string and mentally winced, “Not without casualties.” The child let out a -tt-, unimpressed.

“There are always casualties in any battle, explain your presence here before I make you,” he ordered, mask eyelets narrowing in a glare. Clark closed his eyes against the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Never had he felt like such a failure like he did right now. He took a breath to try and calm himself before answering.  
“Batman’s dead, Robin. He was killed by Darksied,” he spoke quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid made it hurt less. The worst part was Clark saw that Damian didn’t comprehend the sentence like Dick had for some reason. The younger man’s eyes had widened under his mask. Damian murmured something that seemed to reassure Dick as Clark forced himself to reveal the hidden object, body feeling as heavy as his heart.  
A tattered Kevlar cape hung limp in his thick fingers. Both boys recoiled at the sight, Dick with a horribly agonized sound tearing itself from his throat. Clark stared at the cloth as he spoke. “He had been hit by Darksied’s Erasure beams. There was no body that we could find. I know it doesn’t help, but I’m truly sorry for your loss.”  
Damian reached hesitantly for the cape. Clark handed it over, secretly glad to be rid of the terrible burden. He looked over to Dick carefully, uncertain of the reaction from the former Talon. Dick was shivering, eyes wider than ever. He had pulled himself into a tight hold, claws digging into his skin underneath the costume, staining it with blood. Damian tore his gaze away from his mentor’s clothing to look over to his brother.

“Richard,” he said quietly, his free hand reaching over to the man. Dick only shook his head violently in denial, shivers becoming more pronounced as the seconds passed. Damian turned to Clark, “Why didn’t you save my mentor? You and the Flashes are supposedly the fastest on Earth and yet you fail one who called you a friend. Leave this place, you pathetic excuse for a human being.” Clark gladly complied, trying to ignore the fury that had begun to wage war with his grief.


	15. Snapshots 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason and Tim join the show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm...they seem wrong (especially Tim and the others...)  
> Sorry for not sending a new Owl arc chapter...not sure if Bruce should speak or Owlman...  
> Please help me fix them and thanks for reading/commenting/kudos :).

Jason was walking back from the Manor’s kitchen, a toasted BLT sandwich in his hands as a pre-patrol midnight snack, when he heard it. Low rough sounds from behind the thick oak door he was walking past in the moonlit hallway. He paused warily. That was Dick’s room when he visited from Bludhaven. As far as Jason knew, not a single person was in the Manor right now. Alfred had taken the residents out to distract them from the reality of Bruce’s death. Jason hesitated for just a moment before going over to lightly knock.  
“Umm…you a’ight in there?” The door flew open without warning and Jason got a sobbing Richard to the chest. Jason froze, arm still raised to knock again and sandwich slightly crinkled from the surprise. Jason knew Bruce’s death would significantly hurt his older brother, but hadn’t expected this violent a reaction. His brother was clinging to Jason’s shirt like it was a lifeline, fat tears silently sliding down his face. “Dick?” He shook his head, mumbling unintelligibly into Jason’s chest.

It was extremely easy to forget that Dick was the most empathetic out of the Bats (which was saying something about the rest of them that Jason didn’t want to think about.) Jason’s brother had consoled each of his siblings, Barbara and Commissioner Gordon, and Alfred before apparently holing up in his room to cry. Jason was glad he had heeded that feeling of hunger and gone on a snack run now. Now Jason just had to try and make Dick feel better…somehow. “Um…you want a toasted BLT?”  
A strangled laugh reached Jason’s ears and caused him to smile weakly. A hand snaked from gripping his shirt to try and snatch his BLT. Jason began to protest loudly as he tried to save his delicious concoction, but began to laugh as well. “No, asshole, make your own! I spent an hour making it fucking perfect!”  
As Dick continued his crime of attempted sandwich theft, they both began to feel as if things would turn out all right in the end and smiled.

YOUNG JUSTICE BREAK LINE/I NEVER SAW THE SECOND SEASON OTHER THAN PART OF ONE EPISODE HELP ME!!!!

Tim was on a “covert” mission with the boys of Young Justice when, as per usual, it went to shit. Beast Boy had tripped over the first wire possible and triggered the blaring alarm. Blue Beetle and Impulse had panicked on the other side of the warehouse, ruining the ambush over there. Now the pair was pinned down behind a rapidly deteriorating wooden crate with the rest of the Team unable to assist because of their own bothersome assailants. Tim was reluctant to call in Nightwing for assistance (he was likely in the middle of his own fight right now,) but they were in Bludhaven and Tim knew they were all screwed if he didn’t. So, as he smacked an armored man with a large tattoo of a blooming rose on his unprotected face with his staff, he wired his oldest brother with a communicator. An inquiring hum was his cue to talk.

“’Wing, I need your assistance right about now in ‘Haven’s warehouse district,” he answered. The feed clicked off as he finished, nothing else was required. Tim watched as Superboy ran through three men like they were bowling pins. A sonic cannon blast hit one of the flying men to force him to slam into a wall so hard he stuck in the concrete. Tim winced at that as he threw some exploding batarangs at a cluster of some more armored men. As they struck the ground, a far window smashed inwards, sending crystalline shards everywhere. Tim smiled at the sight of his brother landing on a man’s face to use as a springboard and incapacitate four other men with electrified escrima strikes. “Nice to see a prompt response, Nightwing, compared to Red Hood’s hour wait last time!” A pleased grin was Tim’s answer as they quickly mopped up the remaining henchmen and zip tied them.  
Nightwing strode over to the previously trapped boys, crouching down to their level to assess their condition. Tim’s teammates slid away from him slightly as he got closer, obviously unnerved. Tim sighed heavily at that while he joined his brother. A small, birdlike tilt of his head before he spoke.

“Robin, status,” he asked, turning to look at Tim instead. Tim carefully assessed his teammates as well before answering. They seemed fine, only a few scratches from splinters or debris littering their bodies and costumes.  
“I’m just peachy, ‘Wing, just a bit peeved at my comrades. They look like they’re fine.” That seemed to shake the boys into functioning again. Beast Boy’s expressive green eyes widened as he realized who was in front of him.  
“Oh, I’m fine, man. Oh my god, you…you’re Nightwing! I didn’t think we’d ever see you, this is awesome,” he exclaimed loudly causing Dick to wince slightly before nodding hesitantly. As Beast Boy kept fangirling, Tim tuning him out to look at his friends. Blue Beetle had the same awestruck look as Beast Boy. Impulse looked like he wanted to run from him for some reason. Tim’s eyes narrowed at that. He looked over at his brother and almost laughed.

The eldest Bat looked like he was about to flee himself, obviously overwhelmed by the attention. He was shifting on the balls of his feet and glancing around as if looking for the actual recipient of their praise. Tim couldn’t hold back anymore and sniggered, trying to hide it behind a gloved hand. Nightwing ignored him in favor of looking to Impulse and Superboy.  
“Status? You seem…perturbed,” he said, head tilting again. Impulse startled slightly as Superboy growled something lowly. Nightwing rose from his crouch in answer to the obvious threat. Tim helped his friends up as the standoff began, another heavy sigh escaping him. Beast Boy looked over at him curiously.  
“What’s up with them?”  
“Oh, Superboy’s having a pissing contest with ‘Wing. He thinks he’ll have more respect from the older heroes if he beats Nightwing, but my brother keeps kicking his ass, no Kryptonite and with little to no effort,” Tim said proudly and looked over to his brother as he heard a slam. Nightwing had Superboy in a tight chokehold on the floor with his thighs, eyes narrowed and teeth bared in a snarl as he hissed something to the clone too low for anyone else to hear. “’Wing, let him go. More important is how you feel about your new fan base?” An acrobatic dismount and Superboy was gasping desperately for some much-needed oxygen.  
“Fan base? What…do I…what is that,” he asked hesitantly. Beast Boy laughed, walking over to place a hand awkwardly on Nightwing’s arm. He smiled brightly as he began to explain the concept, Blue Beetle quickly joining in to educate the older male, who had begun to smile as well. Tim turned to Impulse.  
“What’s wrong? You don’t seem to like Nightwing too much,” he accused. His comrade blinked before answering incredulously.

“He’s killed people, Robin! He went bat-shit when the first Robin died, don’t you remember that?! Blockbuster, Tarantula, Joker, and so many others were murdered in cold blood and you just ignore that because he’s your ‘brother’,” he emphasizes the word with air quotes before continuing, “The JLA doesn’t trust him because of the fact he is obviously fucking insane, doesn’t that stand for something,” he whispered, not realizing how loud he truly was. He did when Blue Beetle cleared his throat pointedly. Nightwing looked like a kicked puppy in the rain at Impulse’s rash words. “Shit…” Nightwing’s eyes suddenly narrow in fury.  
“You don’t have to deal with me for much longer if my presence bothers you so much, but my brother required my assistance and I will _never fail one of my brothers again _, _child _,” Nightwing hissed quietly, hands curling into fists with his claws digging into his palms. The quieter his words, the angrier he was, Tim recalled suddenly and slid slightly in front of Impulse to prevent any bloodshed. “I had one self-appointed task and I failed, little Flash. Have you ever left on a mission, expecting to come home to a smiling little brother who you _promised to be there for _and come back to a tombstone?” Nightwing was beginning to shake with emotion, voice still low and threatening, but stayed in his place, “No, you haven’t. Pass judgement on me once you know that agony and can do something to avenge his useless, senseless death. Until then, tolerate that I am the authority in this city and leave once you’re done here.”______

_____ _

With that, he stalked off, blood dripping from his hands as he ripped his fingers from his palms. The Team watched him go. Tim facepalmed as he thought of the situation Bruce was about to deal with at the Manor.  
“Great job, man, you pissed him off. He is going to be a pain when I get home,” he sighed for a third time. “All of us are going to be forced to go back to the Cave and calm him down which is…a process. Let’s wrap this up.” The Team is quiet as they did so.  
“Dude, your brother is fucking scary as shit,” Blue Beetle says, breaking the silence. A slight pause stretched before Tim began to laugh loudly.  
“Only if he’s pissed, he’s usually a cuddly dork.” The confused and disbelieving faces he got made Tim laugh even harder.


	16. Snapshot 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More backstory :D!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to 14fox on Fanfiction.net for this chapter! :D Thanks bunches (of bananas and/or of oats, depending on your preferences) for the prompt. I know it’s not exactly want you wanted, but my brain wouldn’t stay on target, so I am sorry for that. We all need some more fluff, don’t we?  
> Off topic, but I also found Dick’s theme song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uriJOsWy_zU  
> Enjoy. Tell me if you agree with my choice.

Tim was finished with life in general. Bruce had been extremely hard to deal with the last few days as he and Tim made no progress in their research. He had then endured a day filled with idiots at school (no true surprise there) and had come home to the Manor exhausted and with the mother of all headaches. Guess what though? Jason and Bruce, if Tim had to infer, were screaming at each other again. What they were fighting about now was anyone’s guess. He had found Damian in the kitchen with his Great Dane, Titus, both trying to cover their ears and muffle the noise. Tim crouched to their level so he could be heard.  
“Are they talking about the weather or fighting again,” he asked, attempting for a joke to lighten the mood. Damian nodded at the latter as he scowled. Titus wriggled to get closer to Tim and shoved his head under his hand for head scratches. Tim smiled despite himself as he complied. Damian huffed.  
“You are correct, Drake. They began an hour ago, and Richard still has not arrived,” he said, annoyance clear. Tim felt a slight disappointment bloom in his chest when he heard that. Dick had promised to come after his shift had finished at the Bludhaven police department to watch a movie with his youngest brothers. “Have you made progress on the project or its research? I heard Todd and Father talking about it before this altercation began.” Tim shook his head, ignoring the mixture of failure and frustration the thought brought him.

The family had begun to search for a cure to the serum Dick had in his veins, but no dice. There was nothing like it in the world, so they were stuck trying to synthesize their own antidote. Jason had been skeptical, but accepting in the beginning and slowly began to oppose the project as much as possible, even going as far as sabotaging it at every opportunity. He especially hated how the family was keeping it a secret from Dick himself, the main source of opposition really, that Jason had. He believed Dick had a right to know, but Bruce didn’t want to give the former Talon false hopes. Before Tim could reply, Titus quickly rose to dash towards the front door with a happy dog bark. The two boys followed him as the argument upstairs cuts off abruptly.  
Dick, in his police uniform, stood ruffling Titus’ short fur with a slight scowl on his face. He turned to his brothers with a raised eyebrow. “Todd and Father were fighting again, Richard. The more important issue is your tardiness when you had promised to arrive after your shift which ended at four. It is now 6:15.” Dick smiled apologetically at that as a reply before Jason stomping towards them caught his eye, causing a concerned expression to appear. The second youngest was glowering and tried to push past Dick to leave the Manor. An arm snapped up and caught him on the chest. Jason’s eyes narrowed even further as sea-foam green eyes flicked over to Dick, who only stared back with concern and perplexed.

“Dickiebird, I’m not in the mood for any of your usual cryptic communication right now. I am most certainly done with Bruce’s bullshit and am leaving this Manor before I break something,” he snarled, trying (and failing) to push past Dick’s arm. Tim knew from experience Jason wasn’t going anywhere, but then Dick spoke.  
“Come back before a half hour has passed or I will find you,” he ordered. He waited till Jason reluctantly agreed to release him, eyes a deep conflicted blue. Tim blinked in surprise as Dick strode away from his brothers, a determined look in his eyes replacing the previous emotions. Dick never let his upset brothers escape him until they felt better, this was out of character. “Owlet, Tim, I’ll retrieve you once I’m finished. Stay in the Manor.” Tim blinked in confusion before shrugging, deciding a hot shower and Tylenol was in order. Dealing with Dick was difficult at the best of times but impossible right now with this headache…maybe Tim could take a nap as well before whatever this was began?

POV CHANGE TO JASON/ THOUGHT I’D WARN YOU, I HATE WHEN THERE’S NO WARNING, SO HAVE ONE

Jason was still irked at Bruce despite his best efforts to heed Dick’s request, more of an order really, and calm down. It was just that Dick was unaware of the reason Jason had stormed out. Both Bruce and Jason had heard Titus and stopped yelling, afraid Dick would hear the subject. Jason was going to tell Dick once he got back and had a chance to bring up the topic. He had put it off too long as it was. Dick had a right to know and choose for himself if he wanted to be normal again.  
Jason had the feeling Dick wouldn’t want to. It would mean that Dick couldn’t protect his family as well as he could now. Bruce was too fucking focused of curing his eldest to think about how Dick had a choice in his own fate. Jason was a firm believer in that ever since he had been resurrected because neither he nor Dick had much choice in their lives till now.  
Jason could feel himself getting annoyed again and quickly dropped the topic. He had gone on an early patrol to blow off some steam, but he hadn’t found enough people to punch in the face. His time limit was almost up as well. Shit…Dick was going to come after him and then Jason would…have the perfect opportunity to tell Dick! He smiled and jumped off the roof to waste the last few minutes. If Dick was true to form, he would find Jason right as his time ran out.  
Jason was unsurprised to see Dick waiting on the roof. He was surprised to see that he was in his training t-shirt and sweatpants (both in desperate need of Alfred’s sewing.) Dick gestured for Jason to follow him before flipping over to the adjacent roof. Jason complied before his brother got too far ahead.

“So, Dick, before we return to the Manor, I have something important to tell you,” Jason began. Dick looked over at Jason, smile bright and happy, and he suddenly felt apprehension crawl up his spine. If Dick was told that the family had kept something this important from him… God, he didn’t know how Dick would react and that scared him. It was an unspoken rule of Dick’s to not hide important information from the family and expected them to do the same. This would hurt his brother’s feelings, it might even crush him at the very least. Jason couldn’t do that to him when he looked so excited from whatever he had planned. Probably a pile of soft and warm objects arranged into a nest if he was true to form.  
“What is it?” Jason sighed as they began to travel back to the Manor. Dick was travelling roofs without gear like he always did, acrobatic undead bastard. Jason didn’t have a death wish, so he traveled like a normal vigilante with his grappling gun.  
“…Never mind, it’s not that important. Why aren’t you in costume is though,” Jason asked. Dick tilted his head in suspicious confusion. Jason mentally braced for the inquiry. Truthfully, Jason kinda wanted his older brother to pry, so he couldn’t be blamed for the inevitable fallout. The expression vanished quickly as he answered, though.  
“Alright, Jaybird, if you say so.” Dick’s new smile was warm and trusting. Jason felt like a piece of shit now. Why’d Bruce have to ruin a good thing by being Bruce? Dick was a murderous cinnamon roll of slightly skewed, but somehow innocent goodness. The fallout when Dick found out what the family was doing behind his back was going to be tremendous. Jason was interrupted in his admittedly strange and brooding thoughts by Dick’s answer. “Well, you were so close to the Manor still, I didn’t see the point of suiting up. Anyways, we both aren’t seen unless we want to be because of our training.” Jason rolled his eyes behind his domino mask at the proud statement (even if it’s true.)  
The Manor loomed over Gotham like Batman on a skyscraper’s gargoyle, menacing and dark. Jason had always hated the place with a passion because of the wealth it represented, once a street rat always a street rat, but the grounds were nice. Large and green, Alfred took great care of the whole place, even letting Damian prune the foliage with his katanas. The memory made Jason chuckle lowly.

“So, what’s this all about? I was being truthful when I said I wasn’t in the mood for any cryptic shit.” Dick only gave Jason a sly smile before climbing the fence. “You know we both have keys to the Manor, right?”  
“Don’t ruin the fun, Jaybird.” Jason sighed as he followed his brother. They saw Damian with Titus in the back garden as they landed on the other side. “Ah, Owlet! Come with us.” Damian narrowed his eyes.  
“I must decline, Richard. Last I heard, Drake was naked where you had taken him,” Jason almost choked on his surprised, but confused laughter. Dick looked confused for a second before chuckling himself.  
“I gave him clothes, don’t worry. He wouldn’t have stayed in the den otherwise,” Dick explained. He carefully grabbed the smallest Wayne by the collar and bounded towards the front door in excitement. Jason suddenly had doubts about this whole secretive thing Dick had going on. He’d never been so clandestine about comforting his brothers before. Dick tilted his head toward Jason in a ‘if you don’t follow me, I will drag you to the den by your dick’ look and Jason quite reasonably quailed, quickly jogging after his brother as he entered the building. “Now, Jason, go change and meet us in the den. We are going to spend time together without Bruce.” Jason complied quickly by stealing Dick’s clothes in revenge. Why did they all have ragged ass hems?! Did he hide them from Alfred so the man couldn’t hem them!? A good thing about this strange fact was that Dick’s shirt actually fit Jason somehow.

As he walked into the den, Dick’s plan was revealed and Jason couldn’t help but smile. A neat pile of terrible action films to laugh at and Disney cartoons as a family staple were next to the TV. A huge ass pile of soft pillows and blankets was carefully erected in the middle of the room; the original seating arrangement shoved to the walls and out of the way. Tim and Damian were in soft-looking pajamas and carefully perusing through the movies. Dick walked in with a huge bowl of miscellaneous snacks and popcorn. Jason noticed that the only bedding missing from Dick’s nest was Bruce’s own. It was obvious he knew who had upset his brothers.  
“Dick, I have a ton of work to finish,” Tim said, trying to escape his inevitable fate. Dick just grabbed his brother and dragged him to the nest. Jason was already sinking into the pile with a content smile, already feeling better. Damian was standing uncomfortably to the side and Jason grabbed one of his wrists to pull him down as well. Tim was released near Jason, who grabbed him as a hostage so Dick could queue the movies and place the snacks in easy reach of his fluffy bedding fort. Once that was finished, Dick walked over to his brothers and began to arrange them to his liking.  
It turned into having his younger brothers completely eaten by the pile before he snuggled into it himself between them all. Jason cussed quietly as he did.  
“Damn it man, why are you always so fucking cold?” Dick only chuckled as he started the first movie and pulled the younger brothers into a bear trap of a hug. Jason only leaned over to grab some food before relaxing. 

LAST POV CHANGE TO DICK

Dick was content. His brothers had resisted at first, but had quickly realized that resistance was futile and relaxed in the nest he had made them. Jason had helped Dick keep their younger brothers where they belonged. Dick had basked in the warmth of his brothers as they had laughed at the first movie in the queue “Superman VS Batman” until tears had streamed from their eyes.  
His little brothers had attempted to watch every movie Dick had chosen, but had fallen asleep at the halfway mark as the sugar wore off and their lifestyles caught up with them. Dick would gladly watch over them till they woke. Alfred had come in to clean and smiled knowingly at Dick.  
“Am I to assume that it was Master Bruce’s bedding outside on the roof, then?” Alfred looked amused, but Dick still sent him a sheepish and apologetic smile. Alfred only chuckled quietly. “It’s quite all right, Master Dick, only be sure to retrieve them.”

“Of course, Alfred. Thank you,” Dick replied. As Alfred left, Dick looked over his brothers and felt a slight frown appear. He knew they were hiding something from him. Jason had proven that when he had censored himself before. No matter how good they thought they were at lying, Dick could see through them. It was something about himself, but that’s all Dick knew. It hurt to know that his family was hiding something important from him, but Dick was trying to ignore that. It could be important he not know like a surprise party, nothing serious.  
That didn’t matter right now though. What mattered was his family happy and content like they were right now. Dick would make sure they were for as long he was able. Nothing would change that fact. He made sure to curl around his trio of birds before lightly dozing himself.


	17. Snapshots-Superboy's Beef

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Superboy's got some beef.  
> Not the delicious meat kind, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at Superboy, I think.  
> Sorry. I tried.  
> Tell me if I messed up names, I have this awful feeling I have...

Superboy didn’t care for the eldest Bat. Nightwing was an anomaly. Nightwing was a former assassin who could snap at any second if provoked. Nightwing had the Bat Clan blind to the danger he posed. Nightwing had tricked the goddamn Batman and Tim, who were the smartest people Conner knew. Superboy couldn’t even hear him when he was visiting the Mountain and Superboy swore that the young man didn’t even breathe. Conner couldn’t even beat the bastard in combat and he was Superboy!  
What’s worse was that most of the League didn’t trust the man, but because Batman said it was fine, they rolled over with no argument liked a submissive dog! What was wrong with them?!? At least Superman had the right idea. Which had led the clone to realize that if Conner himself could defeat Nightwing, Superman would have to notice his son and Conner would finally have the correct mentor. Conner would just have to wait for the right moment to strike.  
Then the Team was informed the vigilante himself would be babysitting them for a week or two while the League went to settle an altercation in Europe. The Team was told to train just in case they were required later. Superboy had found his chance. So, he made sure to train a bit harder than usual before the vigilante arrived. Anything to get the upper hand in the fight.  
The Zeta tube announced Tim and Nightwing’s arrival. Tim’s excited chatter was what Conner heard first and he frowned. The Talon had his claws deep in the Bat Clan and was sinking them deeper every day it seemed. Garfield and Jaime had been gushing to Aqualad about how they were excited to see what the “hero” would teach them. Wonder Girl was gushing as well, but for a different reason entirely, to M’gann and Bumblebee. Impulse was hovering with Conner at the fringes of the group. He seemed to recognize the danger as well and that made Conner feel relieved. At least he wasn’t going crazy.  
The Bats strode into the room, purpose in every footfall. Red Robin bounced over to Gar and Jaime, feathery cape fluttering as he shouted a greeting. Nightwing was in costume as well, but his mask had black lenses instead of the usual white. The man kept walking towards the training room without a word. Tim sighed at the sight before facing the team.

“ ’Wing is going to test our hand-to-hand combat, so no weapons or armor. I made sure to frisk ‘Wing, so he doesn’t have any either. The goal is to last as long as possible, so let’s try for two minutes first,” Tim said brightly before following his brother. The others quickly followed, Beast Boy calling out after them.

“Does shape-shifting count as a weapon?” Jaime began a quiet argument with the Scarab as he began to attempt removing it.

“Nightwing won’t try to kill us.” “No, he won’t. He’s been trained by the Batman and Batman doesn’t kill.” “Dios Mio, fine, just follow the rules about no weapons!” He stomped off after the group in a huff, Blue Beetle armor still encasing his body. Conner made sure to keep up, otherwise it might be suspicious. As he walked in, he saw Aqualad try to roundhouse kick Nightwing, who flipped away with a smirk. Before Kal’dur could reorient himself, he was slammed into the training ring by a retaliating spin-kick.

“Aqualad, pass.” The computer intoned. Nightwing held out a hand, which Kal’dur used to rise to his feet. Both young men beamed at each other before Nightwing spoke.

“Attacks are too slow. Practice faster katas with Impulse.” He released their leader before looking to the group as the pair left. He tilted his head, bird-like, before asking, “Next?” Beast Boy bounced in place excitedly, arm waving above his head like was at school. Nightwing nodded, “Shape-shifting is a weapon.” He got a whine at that, but the teen still ran into the ring, sliding into a weak karate-like stance Conner remembered seeing from a movie. Nightwing smiled, standing relaxed and waiting.  
Gar screamed as he leaped forward, an obvious attempt to unnerve his opponent. Nightwing laughed lightly as he dodged, kicking Gar in the back as he passed. The teen caught himself on the ground and turned the movement into a roll to avoid the acrobat’s knee aimed for his unprotected side. Gar used the opportunity to unbalance his enemy, using his arm to pull the man down. His mistake was that he was behind the former assassin, who fell on top of him.

“Beast Boy, fail. Time: 1 minute, twenty seconds.” Nightwing rolled off his opponent as it spoke, pulling Gar along. The teen groaned as he gasped in lost air.

“Good start, but attention to your surroundings is key.” Nightwing praised as he helped him up. Gar smiled even as he sucked in more oxygen.

“Yeah, I knew as soon as I tripped you, I was screwed,” he laughed. Superboy wished he had the teen’s enthusiasm. He couldn’t though; he was too focused on how dangerous the man could be. Jaime walked over to the ring. Nightwing’s eyes narrowed at the sight of his armor.

“The Scarab won’t leave me defenseless to,” he raised his hands to add air quotes, “ ‘a lying corpse of an assassin,’ whatever that means. I told it no weapons and it agreed, admittedly with reluctance.“ Nightwing laughed at that, bright and childish. Superboy was instantly unsettled by the sound.

“Fair enough, Jaime,” he laughed before adding, “Come at me, little insect. Show me your pincers.” Jaime snarled at the jab, leading with a powerful punch to Nightwing’s side. The man followed its momentum, going into a one-armed handstand, and spinning away. They traded blows for a minute before Jaime landed a kick to the side of Nightwing’s face. The force from the blow forced the vigilante to one knee. Nightwing preformed a spin-kick and tripped Jaime, causing him to slam into the floor. The sound made the onlookers wince; a few groans filling the air.

“Blue Beetle, pass.” Nightwing didn’t stand at the positive review, instead raising a shaking hand to his forehead as his eyes closed. Superboy was surprised to hear the young man let out a long shaky breath. Tim ran over to his brother in concern. Superboy only heard Tim because of his super hearing.

“Oh shit, he broke your lenses. Can you still train the others or do you want some glasses,” Tim whispered lowly. Jaime had begun to apologize loudly, which made Nightwing and Conner cringe away.

“Please get some glasses, Baby Bat,” he murmured. Conner saw his chance begin to present itself and smiled inwardly. As Tim ran off to get the accessory, Superboy walked onto the stage to activate the next match. Nightwing glanced up for a second and sighed hard as he identified his opponent. Conner only rolled his shoulders to loosen them. Nightwing rose with a fluid, animal grace. “Beetle, make sure I don’t harm Superboy, even if it means shooting me, all right?” Jaime startled, but nodded with a determined frown, right arm shifting into a sonic cannon.  
A feral smile crawled across Nightwing’s face as he slid into a low crouch, almost laying on the ground. “Come at me then, Superboy. Let’s hope you impress me this time.” Conner snarled, but resisted the urge to charge into an attack. He had to wait for the vigilante to move to even have a chance of beating him. Though his choice of words to Jaime was concerning, Conner couldn’t be distracted. Nightwing began to circle him slowly, still low to the ground. Conner followed the movement with his eyes, noticing that the path was just a large spiral with a scowl. As soon as Nightwing was in Conner’s peripheral vision, he went into a cartwheel and Conner had to spin to watch the agile move. The circular motion led into a front-flipping kick that had a heavy black boot land in the middle of Conner’s stomach. The second foot landed on Conner’s chest in the middle of the Superman insignia which forced Conner to step back to keep his balance.

A strong right punch met Conner’s jaw and a searing pain shot through his face as a crack filled the air. Nightwing used his left hand, claws causing pinpricks of pain, to spring off of Conner’s head and landed neatly to turn and roundhouse the clone’s back with a snarl. Another snapping sound filled the air as his right foot connected and Conner staggered forward slightly, mostly from surprise. Superboy put a disbelieving hand to his jaw as he turned around. Nightwing had dislocated his jaw with a punch. He had broken his hand and his leg to try and take down his opponent. The man hissed when he saw the teen still standing, but didn’t move as his leg and hand repaired. Conner kicked out at the injured appendage, connecting with devastating force. Nightwing didn’t even seem to see it coming for some reason. He screeched, crumpling to the ground, and barely catching himself to avoid failure.  
The vigilante’s clawed hands were shaking hard now, from pain Conner surmised. The clone was surprised and proud he had lasted so long truthfully. Today was the day Superboy defeated Nightwing, he thought with a smirk. The metal claws were making god-awful screeching noises against the ring’s electronic floor as they dug ragged furrows into the square sensors and screens, causing sparks to fly as they began to short out. Conner grunted in pain, hands flying to his ears involuntarily. Just then, Tim came back in, a pair of dark sunglasses in hand.

“Goddamn it! ‘Wing, stand down,” he yelled, pulling out his glove to begin hacking into the arena. He looked to Jaime when Nightwing answered his order with a feral hiss. “Shoot ‘Wing right now,” he ordered, voice hard as steel. Jaime hesitated, but the Scarab didn’t. A loud, light blue blast shot from the cannon and blew Nightwing into the opposite wall. The computer only fizzed with static, unable to announce Superboy’s victory intelligibly. Tim sighed in relief as he deactivated the dying electronics before turning to his comrades.

“I leave for a moment and everything goes to shit,” he spun on Conner, who was still covering his ears, “What’s with you? I know you don’t like my brother, but fighting him when he’s trying to help the Team is lower than I thought you’d go. I thought you were better than Superman, but apparently, I was wrong.” Conner flinched at that, but Tim wasn’t done, “I’m done with accepting it. I’ve done that too often as of late. I’m going to make sure ‘Wing’s all right, we will all go to the living area, and we are going to bury the hatchet.” He stomped over to the hole in the wall where Nightwing had been thrown and Conner heard the beginnings of a softer, but just as harsh lecture.


	18. Snapshots 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick Toasty note: If you know how to add italics or bold type, please tell me how to share them onto the site. I hate having the all caps there for “shouting” when I could use bold words instead.
> 
> Thanks and I hope you enjoy!

The red-haired alien floated gracefully down from the sky and Tim was memorized as he stood with the Teen Titans. Beside him, Dick shifted on his feet. Tim paid his brother no mind. The whole family had been sure to inform him on the diplomatic reasons for this visit from Tamaran, so there was no risk of attack from him, thank the Lord. Her eyes were glowing with green energy; a beautiful contrast to that hair, her royal purple and silver clothing that left quite little to the imagination, and her tastefully orange skin tone. A quick glance at his teammates showed the other Titans were just as entranced by Princess Kori’ander aka Starfire. The boys were doing their best not to drool and Tim had to swallow a laugh (tactfully ignoring the way he was doing the same thing.) Tim was man enough to admit that hormones ruled his decisions and emotions from time to time; he was still an adolescent after all. Her being beautiful didn’t help matters much, but Tim could ignore that for now.

Dick was, as usual, unaffected by the pure perfection of the female gender. Dick had tilted his head as he watched her carefully and made a small, quiet coo of confusion. Tim smiled at his brother, shaking his head in disbelief. As Starfire landed on the Titan Tower’s roof, Tim and Dick walked forward. It had been agreed that the best representatives of Earth were the Bats, as they could keep their heads in most situations and were easily some the most intelligent humans on the planet. Tim was proud to be a part of the family and the larger superhero community. He was also pleased about being chosen as the diplomat for this important exchange. It showed he was a trusted ally of the Justice League.  
Dick didn’t trust anyone near his family, so that’s why he had accompanied Tim. Timothy halted in front of the alien, a welcoming smile on his face. Dick was at an escort’s traditional position, behind and to the right of Tim’s shoulder. Starfire seemed to receive this well, nodding to them both. Timothy opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by her next move.

Starfire had put her hands square on Dick’s shoulders and was kissing him on the mouth, tongue and everything. Everyone watching jolted in surprise, jealousy (for the boys at least, Tim was certain) flooding their bodies. Tim squashed his own feelings and assessed the new development. His brother had tensed the moment she had gotten within breathing distance of the pair, but now he was imitating a statue. Tim knew his eyes would be wide and golden with surprise underneath the black lenses. Dick’s arms had been halfway raised in an age-old male reaction to a female’s lips on theirs. Tim cleared his throat pointedly to try and salvage the meeting. Starfire broke off the kiss at the sound with a surprised and slightly embarrassed noise; the whole thing only lasting a few seconds.

“Ahem, Princess, I am Red Robin and I am a part of the group you are to be possibly joining, the Teen Titans. The young man you just…” Tim coughed to try and gather his thoughts, “Kissed is my brother and our occasional ally, Nightwing.” In the corner of his eye, Tim saw a deep red, almost maroon, blush steal across Dick’s face and had to swallow a snicker at his older brother. Dick raised a hand in wonder to his lips slowly as Starfire turned to Tim.

“Apologizes my friends, but that is how we Tamaranians learn new languages, through touch. I hope I did not transgress on your own customs, but he was your guard correct? I thought it was safer to learn from him than you,” she said, voice as smooth and pretty as her body. Dick was still standing in place, so Tim took it upon himself to continue the unofficial mission.

OUR FIRST LADY BARBARA WALTZS IN; I SHOULD’VE HAD HER AGES AGO

Barbara can’t forget the first time she met with Dick after…after the Joker’s visit. Bruce had brought Dick over to her father’s house in answer to the Gordon’s invitation to dinner. It went to hell as soon as Dick laid eyes on Barbara; the sight apparently freezing him in the entrance hallway of the tiny apartment. The younger man had frozen when he saw her in the wheelchair, but had been unable to properly articulate what was bothering him. The only sounds he had been able to make were high and long whines as his whole body shook in shocked horror. His eyes behind the dark sunglasses were blue still, which was a miracle in and of itself with how obviously disturbed he was.

Her father had paused in his warm greeting to Bruce; his thick snowy eyebrows beetling over his thick glasses. Barbara hoped he wouldn’t get overprotective again; she knew he meant well, but it could get a bit tiring sometimes with everyone goose-stepping around her. She wasn’t glass, wasn’t going to shatter, but no one seemed to believe that! Then Bruce stepped forward slightly, obviously trying to soothe the ruffled former Talon.  
Dick panicked. He spun to face his “Grandmaster” with a terrified expression; the whines getting higher pitched in desperation. Bruce’s face betrayed his confusion and he reached a hand out slightly. Dick’s whines instantly changed into hissing, body language about-facing from fear to a fierce anger. Her dad read the situation quickly and put a careful hand on Bruce’s shoulder, leading him to the kitchen as he sent Barbara a non-verbal command.

“Calm him down and find out what’s wrong as I try to salvage this dinner.” Barbara could do that…just as soon as Dick stopped hissing. Once Bruce was out of sight, Dick spun gracefully around to face her, landing on one knee so that he had eye contact and silence himself. His hands skated repeatedly over her legs in an obvious attempt to find her injuries. Barbara caught them gently and concerned, bewildered gold flickered up to meet her own jade eyes as he looked at Barbara. They were febrile in their intensity as he stared at her, breaths shallow as he waited for her to speak.  
Barbara stayed silent though. She was slightly shocked at how Dick didn’t seem to understand her injury, like he thought this was…oh…had he thought it was temporary? Bruce did have a way with throwing money at the right kinds of people to heal his growing brood. Before she could ask for confirmation with fumbling words, he spoke, voice soft as if to keep the men in the kitchen unaware. Gold eyes glanced toward the door-less entryway as well, keeping watch for prying ears.

“I was informed of your injuries and as such kept the Grandmaster away so that he would not cause undue stress with the threat of decommissioning while you recuperated…do you require more time before you return to active duty,” he inquired. His eyes were so earnest as he asked, genuine care shining in those coin eyes. The irony was amazing. Here was a man who had gone through so much worse than the loss of mobility (though Barbara wasn’t certain about that fact; this had to be Hell on Earth and Dick would never experience something like this) and he was asking if she was all right. The thought made her smile inwardly. Funnily enough, his matter of fact question, if a bit strange, made Barbara feel better.  
Dick wasn’t acting like one misstep would cause her to shatter irreplaceably. Sure, he knew she had to mentally heal from the experience, but Barbara wasn’t allowed to be mired in self-pity. His quiet confidence in her recuperation meant more than he knew. It made her regret what she was about to say.

“I…” she choked on the true facts (I’m paralyzed) and tried again after a hard swallow, “Dick, I…I’m not returning to active duty in the field; I’m quitting,” she replied, waiting for a reaction. Dick blinked slowly behind the dark tinted sunglasses as he processed the information. She almost missed how his eyes sharpened behind his glasses as he glanced again toward the door.

“Did I upset you, my Lady?” Barbara almost breathed an incredulous laugh out because of that. “My Lady.” She had forgotten that he thought the world of her, admired how intelligent and resourceful she was. “A queen among men with Athenian eyes and a fiery spirit enough to make stars jealous,” she had found once handwritten in a tattered book of short stories, prose, and…interesting graphite and ink drawings. She hadn’t realized it was Dick’s until he’d recovered it later and apologized for the inconvenience.

“No, Dick, you didn’t do anything. It’s because I can’t walk anymore; the bullet is too close to my spine to safely remove, so that’s that.” At the words, Dick tilted his head, confusion still plastered on his face, but Barbara saw underneath the thin veneer. Dick was horrified at the thought; the terror flashing in his eyes almost too quick to seize and examine. Barbara wrestled with self- loathing for a few seconds at the look; obviously it was the thought of her disability that bothered the man so much.

“You…will not heal?” Dick’s question was so childlike Barbara couldn’t stand it anymore. This wasn’t such a difficult concept! She knew Dick understood her; why wasn’t he now?! Unwanted fury at everything; the condolences, the protectiveness, the crushing weight of living with this situation that she had unwillingly found herself forced into, led Barbara to lash out. She just couldn’t take any more of this.

“No, Dick. My spine was shot. I’m never walking again. I’m not going on patrol, not literally fighting crime at the source anymore; I am quitting the vigilante business,” she spat. Dick didn’t even flinch, gold eyes sympathetic as he hid shock and hurt with practiced ease. His face was eerily blank as she continued venting her bottled-up frustrations and fears. She wasn’t even all that aware of what was spewing out of her mouth, more relieved that she could release it to pay attention. As it ended, Barbara’s chest heaving as she replenished oxygen, he placed a careful hand on her shoulder and smiled reassuringly.

“Then I will defend you from being decommissioned by the Grandmaster, my Lady, even if he orders me to commit the deed myself or stand aside. Though you would be deemed worthless and a liability in the Court’s unblinking eyes, I would never allow harm to come to you or your family, despite my failure to prevent it before.” Barbara leaned forward to hug Dick with a smile despite her tearstained cheeks. She thanked him quietly and reassured him that he wouldn’t have to hurt Bruce.

Gold irises flickered to the doorway again as footsteps reverberated against the floor. Before the two men could speak, Dick stood to face them, contrite. “I apologize for my unintentional rudeness, Commissioner Gordon. I did not mean to offend your daughter or yourself with such unseemly behavior.” Both men blinked at the words before her dad stammered out an acceptance and, just like magic, everything seemed to right itself as the group began dinner.

CASSANDRA FINALLY SWINGS INTO THIS THING AS WELL

Cassandra liked her eldest brother the best, if she was to be true to herself. Dick was the easiest to understand most of the time, both in body language and speech. When Dick was speaking to anyone other than Cassandra (or Cass, as her brothers had begun calling her), his hands fluttered around like frantic birds building a verbal nest. When they were alone or keeping a secret conversation, they spoke an entirely different way. Dick still waved his hands, but it formed symbols instead of aimless gestures. His whole body became a mouthpiece with each turn, twitch, shift, and motionless pause and Cassandra followed suit. Not quite sign language, but close, she assumed.

It had started when Cassandra had been first introduced to the Wayne Clan, mute and vicious. Oracle was beside her as the paralyzed woman explained how Cassandra had saved the Commissioner and wished for the Bats to adopt her into their group. She had scanned each member instinctually for weaknesses in their postures before becoming dumbfounded by the eldest. He had been speaking her language fluently (though in a different dialect, it seemed,) curious and protective instead of her tense, threatened form. She had been surprised that someone spoke her language and “spoke”, hoping that she would be understood. She tried to ignore the desperation in her chest for someone to understand her; someone that wouldn’t try to force her to speak vocally.

She signaled peace and interest with her whole body, brown eyes sliding submissively to the side. Cassandra knew a fellow assassin when she saw one. His whole body had perked up at the sight and she almost jumped for joy. Almost, Cassandra was too well trained to give in to such uncouth, childish outbursts.

Finally, someone understood! He had agreed after thoroughly reading her body language (non-threatening and earnest) and thus Cassandra Cain became a part of the family. It also began her speech classes. Dick had helped her the most, translating vocals into movement that she understood. It had helped that he’d gone through the same thing she was now when he had joined the Bat colony.

He had also taught her the Talon’s language. That he had taught her in secret, eyes gold as he explained the concepts. They had used screeches, coos, and other animalistic noise, as well as subtle movements, to communicate inside the Court and on deployments or missions. She was the sole confident in a language lost by justice. She had been honored to know he trusted her with it. Cassandra had learned that language easily and with an unabashed enthusiasm which helped her slow transition to a halting English eventually.  
Cassandra broke free of the memory as Dick laughed, body shaking in mirth as the overjoyed sound escaped him. The colony had been playing the board game Clue and Bruce had apparently lost to Tim, causing Jason and Dick to start teasing the eldest male in the room. Damian was sitting next to Cassandra sketching the scene with a small smirk.

“The World’s Greatest Detective, my my my, hand over your crown to the Replacement!” Jason crowed. Bruce answered by flipping the whole board, but Cassandra saw his poorly hidden smile.


	19. Prelude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, hi there, ho there!
> 
> Awkward author here with information about why this took so long. My summer break is almost over (not that any of you knew it had begun) and a new college quarter will begin. At the beginning of this break, I came down with three illnesses! Lucky me, right? They slammed lethargy into me as my immune system fought valiantly and have prevailed against the infections and strep (once more!) Anyways, this chapter was surprisingly fun to write and is the beginning and ending to the new story arc that might be made slower than the others as I am trying to put a lot of thought into it (a miracle, I know :D)!
> 
> To try and clarify though, this is after Owlman and Dick has had time to adjust to his newfound abilities. Talon and Dick are the same person; I hope you don’t get too confused by its perspective. I’ll help with his mindset though because, dear Lord, you could need it for this sudden shift.
> 
> Talon has no gender as Talon is under the impression that it is a possession, something owned by the Owls. Talon cares nothing of names, only titles, ranks, and designations, so the Justice League is the Revered Team in its eyes, etc. Dick looks up to them, so Talon respects them despite how it feels on the matter. Talon is aware of Dick and how they share a body, but believes him to be a different person mentally (where it isn’t wrong per-say, but not correct either), eventually coming to the conclusion that Talon must defend Dick and his interests’ due to the fact that Dick was a nine year-old when they “met”.
> 
> Hope you like it and that it makes sense!
> 
> -ToastyThief

Talon was experiencing _want _for the first time in the seemingly endless cycle of wake-kill-sleep cycle here in this existence that it had returned to. It wanted to return to the Warm Not-Owls; the ones who wore their own faces, no black bird faces constantly staring with blank holes, and called Talon by its chosen name of Dick or Richard, not its title of Gray Son. It wanted the painfully bright but warm halls of the Aboveground Nest and the soothing dark of the Cave Nest underneath. It didn’t realize how much it had enjoyed its time there until it had returned to the freezing grasp of its original Masters. It wanted its small Owlet and his other Fledglings so badly; Talon felt like its heart could burst from the longing. It wanted the police force in Bludhaven with their dysfunctional city design and not this clinical Labyrinth of stone and metal.__

__It wanted, but could not leave. Not until its task was complete and the Parliament of Owls eradicated._ _

__Talon hated the Revered Team that the Grandmaster was allied with despite Dick’s adoration (hence the respectful title the group had received, Talon had respected the child’s wishes.) They who wore more colored uniforms with no purpose other than ostentation and themed everything after themselves like its narcissistic Masters. They who sent a patient bloodthirsty wolf into a fold of unsuspecting sheep and hoped that it would spare the poor, fluffy, stinking, filthy prey surrounding it. They assumed that Grandmaster Wayne had tamed his Talon because of its compliance to their rules and regulations. They thought Talon a weapon to fire towards their enemies as the Court once had with no consequences._ _

__Talon would teach them their mistake. Just as it had to the Court of Owls, Talon would destroy them.  
It seemed quite easy to forget that Talon was more intelligent than they gave it credit for and infinitely more patient._ _

___After all…it had eons to wait. Talon was already dead; it could “outlive” its opponents. It failed to ignore the cold shiver down its spine at the thought of its Nest and Fledglings eventual demise. Talon didn’t like to think of that fact; it caused it to act irrationally and it needed to be logical during its mission.  
Talon mentally shook itself from its wandering thoughts as it was led into the Parliament’s Courtroom. It was more of an arena than the name suggested, tall and smooth curved walls arranged in a circle (too high to get to the top by acrobatic leaps, Talon would have to use its gloves for purchase) around the stone pit Talon was in. Matte black, shiny owl faces peered from above, assessing their “newest” asset as best they could from the height. Talon could care less about him; they all would fall under its claws.  
Talon was more interested in the man staring at it from the other side of the arena. Tan like how Talon had been, orange and green mask with a ratty tan cloak, and a strange golden gauntlet over his right hand, the man cut a strange figure in the otherwise empty ring. Talon tilted it head in a customary and polite fashion, signaling intrigue and caution. The man did nothing, so Talon resorted to speech with disgust and disappointment._

__“Name, purpose,” it placed a hand over its still heart to indicate itself before speaking again, “Talon with the designation of Gray Son of Gotham.” Its voice incited murmurs from the audience, surprise it was able to speak and interest in the preciseness of its heavily accented (hard to decipher because of that accent; Dick was better at speaking than Talon) words. The man shifted before he answered, gloved fingers stretching with what was likely involuntary movement._ _

__“My name is Raptor, Grayson.” Talon said nothing at the mispronunciation which seemed to disappoint Raptor; a frown marring his dark features. “I’m here to be your partner and mentor,” his low tenor voice rasped slightly, as if his throat had been damaged, but not healed right. The admittedly pleasing voice was tinged with the same accent Talon had, but lighter, as he most likely spoke more than it did. “I found you a sparring partner to assess your skills. Normally, I would do so myself, but I don’t think it’d be a fair fight.” Raptor said this with a smug smile, bright white teeth gleaming in the light. Another Talon (female, novice, weak) slid from an unseen area above the pair and Talon locked onto the man. The pair was motionless as they stared._ _

__Empty gold-green eyes examined Talon. It shied from the unsettling color, instincts screaming that familiar green was deadly, malicious, Wrong. Before Talon could investigate further, the other lunged with a screech. The Initiation had begun._ _

__BREAKLINE FOR TIME SKIPS_ _

___The Warm Not-Owls had come late, yes, but had come and seen Talon’s triumph over its Masters. It turned from the blaze of their last stronghold with a bright smile. They would be proud of Talon, yes? For it had conquered its (Dick’s) fears and doubts and now Dick (Talon) would be free from the Owls (Masters)! Its smile faltered as Talon registered their hostile stances, weapons drawn. Talon took a few tentative steps forward towards its Fledglings with confusion etched in every line of its body.  
Talon staggered backwards from the force of the suddenly thrown katana in its chest, neatly piercing the heart and grinding against the newly-exposed ribs. It looked at its   
brightly-clad opponent with a betrayed trill of sound._

__Talon had been stabbed in the heart by its little Owlet._ _

__Before it could begin to process this, a few birdarangs from Red Robin into its left shoulder introduced themselves. Talon (Dick) mewled at the sudden agony, mind reeling. Red Hood froze, pistols raised and safeties off, as Talon raised a trembling hand to the blade in its chest. Talon raised blazing yellow eyes, unaware of the shards of poison green embedded inside the orbs. It snarled, teeth bared in feral fury, as it drew the blade and flicked its dark blood off the blade. The snarl shifted unsettlingly in to a smile._ _

__“Oh Lord Almighty, they gave a Talon Lazarus water.”_ _


	20. Mission Impossible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CUE THE ICONIC THEME!
> 
> Sorry for the long wait, but I caught 3 illnesses at once (ear and upper respiratory infections and strep throat) over my summer break. I was extremely icky feeling and unmotivated because nature doesn’t care what I have to do in life, only the misery. That was why Prelude came a bit later than I planned.
> 
> Then, as you all have learned, my summer quarter has begun and absolutely swamped me. I’ve/school in general stressed meself out, so expect possibly (more than likely) slower updates. Not that they weren’t already frustrating… Sorry, but thanks for hanging out and sticking with!
> 
> By the By, this is ugly. This arc will most likely be EXTREMELY BLOODY AND POSSIBLY DISTURBING??, so there is your warning. I know it could bother some readers, so I thought I might warn you.
> 
> ToastyThief

Damian stared at the landline telephone with poorly hidden frustration. He was warring with himself. Small twitches in his facial features were the only sign of the vicious battle of wills that Damian had found himself in. Richard would call if something was amiss. Richard wouldn’t because he would protect his siblings from any remote danger…even a papercut as Brown was unfortunate enough to find out. Of course, nothing was wrong and Damian was overreacting like the child he so vehemently denied he was.

But it had been months and none of them had noticed their eldest bird missing. Damian was screaming at this oversight. He should’ve realized it faster! Richard never went longer than a month without visiting or calling…but the little boy had become swamped with schoolwork and patrols that he’d been too tired to check in with his former mentor, instead flopping into bed as soon as he returned to the Manor. The fact didn’t console the smallest Wayne as much as it should.  
The phone began to shudder from the force of its jangling ring. Damian snatched it from the casing before the first could even stop and spat out the obligatory greeting. He tried to ignore the leap his heart took as he waited for a reply.

“Oh great, it’s Demon Spawn,” Todd groaned. Before the customary, acidic reply could be administered, the older man continued, “Dick was supposed to patrol with Cass and me last night. Do you know where he is so that I can harass him for missing our date?” Damian felt his heart freeze. Todd seemed to notice it, but didn’t press. He knew how the League of Assassins worked. They both had been members for a while after all.

“Richard hasn’t checked in at his appointed times for a few nights now. I would ask Father, but he has been…preoccupied with the Justice League as of late. That means, however, that Father had no time to assign Richard a mission and the man always tells us of his undercover police work,” Damian answered. “I will go to the Cave and then Watch Tower for clues there if you search his apartment and inform Drake and Gordan.” The affirmation was ignored as Damian slammed the phone into its cradle.

He would locate Richard and berate him viciously for making Damian Wayne-Al Ghul fret like some useless housewife.

SKIPPITY DOO DAH-SKIPPITY EHH-MY OH MY WHAT A WONDERFUL DAY <3

Damian was storming through the Watchtower with menace flowing from each slamming green combat boot onto the metallic flooring. He had a specially-made katana attached to his utility belt and the hood of his cape created a deep shadow over his glaring, masked eyes. The child looked intimidating despite his small stature and was using it to his advantage to avoid the other heroes in the space station. They would back away with wide eyes and upraised hands, backs hitting the white walls with consecutive dull thumps. He hadn’t yet found the man he was searching for, but it would be soon apparent if Superman was even here. Damian was aware of Superman’s actions in this destressing development via his Father’s “secure” League files. The mere thought of why he was here made Damian’s teeth grind; the pressure exerted on them almost cracking one of them before Damian realized it and refrained. Doing so wouldn’t assist him in his goal.  
Richard had gone to ground for the League. Not even Drake or Gordan could find him in any files or cameras, the best information procurers in Father’s large assemblage of allies. He had left no notes, no warning, not even a simple “goodbye” before larking off to who knew where for whatever reason. Richard never left like that unless under specific orders; the whole heroic community knew that for a fact. The question was who would have the gall to oppose Batman? Superman, of course. Which was why Damian was now on the warpath searching for the pathetic excuse of heroism Superman posed as in the Watchtower. The alien seemed to be aware of the child’s ire and had scarpered as fast as he could.

“Superman.” The sudden, but quietly furious voice of his father made Damian pause for just a moment before he barged into the room where it had emanated from. His father was confronting Superman; his posture extremely closed off (more due to anger than his usual brooding) and legs braced wide as if ready for an attack. Damian knew Superman was on the receiving end of a scathing glare and quickly strode over to Batman’s side with one of his own. “You sent my eldest son, one with an extremely delicate mentality that seems to rely on socialization to maintain balance, into an infiltration mission that requires him to enter a solitary cover so deep that there is no chance for us to extricate him without him being killed.”

Damian felt his lips peel back into a snarl at the thought, sliding his weapon from its sheathe to reveal a glowing neon-green blade. Superman groaned as the light fell onto his body, beginning to curl in on himself from the slow agonizing burn of Kryptonite. Damian waited for his father to object to his action, but the man’s eyes only narrowed. Damian made sure to inch the weapon closer to the pained male with a slow, curling smile.

“He was the only one capable of the mission! Look, Nightwing won’t be killed because the group he is infiltrating has been hunting for the kid ever since the Court fell.” Damian growled as his father took a step forward and dragged Superman up by the collar, inciting a deep groan from the weakened man. Under his breath, almost low enough for Damian to miss the alien’s words, “Not that the kid stays dead.” A hand on Damian’s shoulder was the only thing saving Superman from death…or, at the very least, extreme injury.  
“Clark, you sent someone proven to be easily manipulated into a den full of masters of the art with no hope of rescue,” Batman snarled into the other man’s face. Before the weakened man could speak, Batman continued. “If you could share your reasoning, I might make Robin sheathe his weapon.” That made Superman shudder bodily as he sagged closer to the floor, only held up by Batman now. Before he spoke, a pair of crimson and yellow blurs came into the room to interrupt.  
Kid Flash rushed forward to grab the katana and steal its sheathe and dash to the other side of the room. His uncle made sure to get between the opposing parties with hands in the air.

“Whoa whoa, calm down and we can discuss this like adults, yeah? I will try to explain as best I can.”

POV CHANGE TO RAPTOR

Raptor didn’t see the cheerful little child acrobat his Mary had adored in this silent empty shell of a human at all. He looked away as the Gotham Talon literally ripped a few of his fellows apart as if they were paper-mache. Mary would be horrified at what these people had done to her little Robin. Raptor had seen some truly disturbed things and experienced the worst in mankind, but nothing topped this… This was why Raptor loathed the wealthy. All they did was prey on the lesser off for their own amusement and/or gain. Disgusting bastards. They had corrupted Mary’s adorable naïve son into a corrupted caricature of humanity who only knew Death as a companion. One of the Talons was thrown into the wall besides Raptor, who jolted in surprise as he was distracted from his morbid thoughts.

Gravity dragged the male from the cracked wall slowly; a child picking at an interesting scab and trying to avoid the nipping pain kind of slow. The Talon didn’t rise despite the low number of wounds on his body. Not even a twitch. Raptor tried and failed to hide his shudder at the wet, truthfully horrifying sounds coming from the arena. He lifted his head to watch the Parliament’s reactions. He didn’t have to hide his narrowed amber eyes this time; none of them were paying attention to the thief, transfixed on the macabre spectacle behind.

Many had left in quite the hurry, hands going over their masked mouths as if holding back vomit or mounting horror. Others had leaned forward in awe of Gotham’s Gray Son. Raptor narrowed his eyes as the sounds behind him stopped. He turned slowly, suddenly apprehensive at what he would see.  
Grayson was standing in a sea of blood and bodies. Some were repairing themselves with methodical precision. Many were as unmoving as the one near Raptor. None inside the Parliament’s folds had known it was possible to kill a Talon without decapitation. Raptor certainly hadn’t or he would’ve been long gone. Gotham was more corruptive than they had first thought if Grayson had learned that.

“Is this satisfactory?” He was drenched in blood and viscera with bright cerulean eyes. The color glinted golden with hidden meaning as Grayson licked some of the mess off his face absently, wiping his claws on one of the healing Talons. Raptor shuddered again and glanced at Suyolak, his weapon of choice. He clicked the claws together for a slight comfort as an Owl began congratulating the unhinged Gothamite.

Raptor couldn’t forget the brightly smiling child of Mary Lloyd as a twisted, empty Cheshire grin appeared on the man’s face before the Talon began to lick himself clean.


	21. Explanation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. College and the death of the plot bug hit me hard after that last chapter. As I’ve stated before, I never expected this to take off the way it has! I’m incredibly thankful for all you’re support and patience! I hope that such a long wait won’t occur again, but it probably will.
> 
> Being that Hurricane Irma has forced me into complacency for a few days, I was able to finish what I had! I hope for whoever more affected than this storm (natural disaster?) that you or any in the fam affected will be alright.
> 
> On a completely different note, anyone else notice the outbreak of Talon themed things after my story went up? Seems pretty dang cool if you ask me; it’s awesome to see more of my fav AU! \^.^/
> 
> -ToastyThief

Damian took in a deep breath as Flash began to speak. They were wasting precious time by floundering around on this space station! He just wanted to find his brother and bring him home. Who knew what depths of self-hatred Richard would sink into due to how long he’d been away? It seemed his father felt the same judging by his body language. Superman dragged himself up with a heavy sigh and Kid Flash shifted on his feet. The Flash only glanced behind him to the pair before speaking.

“Okay, Bruce, you know the story, but I’m summarizing for Robin,” the man turned to Damian with a slightly strained expression, “You may already know, but the Court of Owls has revealed themselves as part of a larger organization that goes by Parliament of Owls. Why the League was called in by a few select parties…and an anonymous informant was because there had been reports of high ranking officials in world-wide companies that had died and then returned. The evidence we found lead to the existence of a Lazarus Pit in their clutches.”

He took in a deep breath as Damian pondered. A Pit his grandfather hadn’t discovered and protected was rare, so the Parliament must have taken it by force from the assassins. Most likely sent Talons to do their will as always, the craven cowards that they’d been proven to be. The League wouldn’t have encountered such opponents before and were razed to the ground. Perhaps they hadn’t known what a boon the liquid was till a Talon had been thrown in? Or had they heard the rumors and investigated as Father had? Before the questions could be ruminated on, Flash began speaking once more.

“We of the JLA decided that we would have to defeat the group once and for all, so we called a meeting. Only the founders, we wanted a calmer meeting than usual ‘cause of the gravity of the situation. It turned into a stalemate quickly and devolved from there. Half on the side of destruction of their resources and power before incarceration, the other on first incarceration then the rest, one for sending Nightwing and the other against; not on his own, mind you, we were thinking of PTSD and how it could affect him. There weren’t many tactics we could employ because of the nature of our opponents. We spent months, almost a full year sitting on our plans and possible available heroes.” Flash sighed heavily, shoulders slumping and he weakly shook his head.

“The most intelligent people on this Earth and we couldn’t think of anything better than to send a traumatized kid back into a war he’d escaped. It turned into necessity to send your brother because of how it had seemingly wasted most of the prep time we had. He knows the Owls best and despite how we never want to put our allies into positions like we were forced to with him; we had little to no choice. We’d run out of time and sent him in to buy a slight amount of time. It wasn’t meant to last this long, but their bases have started to self-destruct, at least two of them just this month that we had no idea about. I’m afraid we waited too long and Dick took things into his hands…and I can’t blame him.” He sighed again. Kid Flash shifted on his feet at the sound, fingers drumming on the sheathe of Damian’s weapon. Obviously, the teen didn’t like seeing his relative doubting himself; Damian could relate to the feeling. Though the empathy did nothing to forgive the constant nervous tip-tapping on his extremely rare kryptonite sword.

It made the young vigilante twitch at the disrespect to his weaponry. His father hadn’t moved during the entire story and that made Damian anxious. When Batman was still it meant he was thinking and when Batman thought, people got injured. Despite most of the Justice League being a bit…disorganized and messy at times, Damian respected the group for their teamwork and generally higher than the average plebeian’s intelligence. He didn’t want to see what happened when his father got angry at his team. He nodded slowly.

“I can see why you’d send my brother and appreciate the attempt of sparing him,” Damian began, a gloved hand raised to his chin, “The main reason you’ve gained our ire is the singular fact that you sent him off without informing us. As such, Richard has been missing for months as he didn’t inform us either.” The sentence made Flash frown.

“What would prompt him to do that?” At that moment Batman snarled an answer. After doing so he stormed off in a swirl of his dark cape. Damian dashed to Kid Flash and snatched his sword frown him with a nasty glare before chasing the other vigilante.

“Because he didn’t want to involve us. Dick’s never wanted the League, his siblings…or even me to know what those bastards have done to him. Now let’s go save him from himself for the fiftieth time.”

 

The Talon flying beside Raptor tonight is laughing; he can hear him from inside the office. Pure, hateful, bloodthirsty joy at the slaughter he’s causing as Raptor steals the information the Parliament wants. He tried to ignore the agony emitted from behind the closed door as he desperately watched the progress bar fill slowly on the computer screen.  
Raptor regrets giving Grayson the disgustingly bright green Lazarus Water despite having no real choice in the matter. It’d made him unstable, bouncing between a childish, bubbly personality Raptor recalled when Mary was still alive and Talon’s silent observances. Not to mention this one, seen only once before in the man when the second Robin had been murdered, unhinged and Joker-like as he reveled in the chaos he’d caused, but so goddamn confused as to why the people he defended were terrified of him.

He was due another dose soon, but even the Parliament was wary. No other Talon had acted this way; they’d become empty husks, forgotten who’d they had been (if they’d wanted to die) and followed orders with a formerly unattainable ease. Grayson had always loved to be an outlier, hadn’t he? Pestering the other performers in the troupe so that he could learn their skills instead of only focusing on his family’s specialty and then go befriend the animals as if they couldn’t kill such a small boy, treating them as the humans they could never be.

Grayson as a Talon was just as…endearing, in a way. Asking innocent questions like, “Why are your eyes gold if not a Talon?” Of course, it had been broken English (Eyes gold…not Talon?) but the idea was there. He enjoyed sweets just as much as he had when he was younger and cereal was like God’s gift to Man. Raptor knew it’d been hard to come by while Haly’s travelled, so the euphoria he saw on Grayson’s face after a bowl was like a punch to the gut.

The worst times were when he defended an innocent. Grayson didn’t understand why someone would be so afraid of their guardian. One who had defeated (killed and/or mutilated) their assailant with ease for no reward. He’d look at Raptor with desolation before asking what he did wrong with a horribly lost voice.  
Yes, Raptor hated what the Parliament had done. As much as it pained the man to admit, Bruce Wayne was the better of two wealthy evils. That’s why he’d…best not to even think it. The Parliament always seemed to know of their servant’s discontent.  
Just as the computer dinged that it was safe to remove the hardware, the screams choked off and the door was opened. Grayson was perfectly clean with a slight smile, but Raptor read into the expression. It hid regret and a lost look. The elder man sighed heavily and stood from his chair as he removed the thumb drive.

“Threat neutralized and escape route clear, Raptor,” Grayson chirped, no sign of emotion in his voice. As Raptor walked past him, yellow eyes followed waiting for an order. He fell in behind when none came. “No new information gathered from the targets. We return to the Roost?”

Raptor only nodded, not trusting his voice at the moment. Once there, he’d administer the Water and continue the whirling circle of his thoughts.


	22. Tangled Threads and Twisted Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK.
> 
> Apparently everything I say is a lie and I’m sorry! More frequent updates, my ass; I should’ve known I would somehow flake! I am quite sorry. You don’t want excuses and I won’t give any. In better news, I think this is the longest chapter yet? 3080 words! I kept adding and revamping this thing so it got to be massive.
> 
> Oops.<:) By the way, pull out those thesauri/dictionaries because Talon has a vocabulary! Ironically, he doesn’t think he’s good with words. Such a strange boy, Talon. Oh well.
> 
> Warnings are that Graphic (possibly?) Descriptions of Violence/Injuries and some Self Harm. That is unintentional Self Harm, not from mental illnesses or conditions, though that could be debated? Anyone else hurt themselves when they are distracted or bored as all hell? I do and it is a horrible habit, but I don’t realize I’ve done so till it’s done. It just showed up as I typed and seemed to work with such a confused Talon and stayed. I don’t know anymore…like I did anytime before this point!
> 
> By the way, it has been brought to my attention (where it has been ruminating in the back of my mind already, to be honest) that it is now confusing to read this unplanned monstrosity. Any suggestions on how to organize/separate into concise stories? On AO3, I plan to put Snapshots into a separate entity and both to a series. Any suggestions for that? For Fanfiction.net readers, should I put these in a more chronological order?
> 
> I demand audience participation! Well…ask politely to be honest. I’m in no position to demand x).
> 
> Happy Halloween? Again, don’t know if any of you care about holidays, but it’s there for those who do; here is a treat instead of a trick <3! Thanks for always dealing with my horrible update schedule.
> 
> Love  
> ToastyThief

Everything Talon (or is it Dick) has been twisted together, in and out like flips and threads and even its analogy doesn’t make sense now! It all had fallen to pieces holus-bolus, disassembled circus arena before rebuilding itself incorrectly. Everything is green-tinged and it can’t control itself whenever emotions tangle with an assignment. Which was every time it was sent out nowadays. They both hated it; Dick and Talon together in harmony for once in their segmented lives. Self-control was everything they’d been taught and whatever the Owls gave Talons had ruined it, torn it to thready viscera dragged from their brain. Only in Gray Son, though.

The others, the Talons around him, were empty nests, devoid of the people they had been. Travesties of the perfection that had been the Court, these Parliament Owls and their Talons. The few Talons Gray Son had seen floating aimlessly around this compound were dull-eyed. The bright green flashes somehow dull in the glassy eyed, shambling humans around the young man. Many had been young teens frozen in time, likely their serums were different that Gotham’s and halted the aging process faster. Strange, it hadn’t known   
there were differences between Courts. It hadn’t known about the Parliament either hissed a small voice in its head.

That was true, but you don’t have to be so rude about saying so, Talon retorted with an injured sniff. He sneezed from the dust in the air immediately and so ruined the effect. Maybe he could clean later? It hadn’t seen anything for that purpose, however. Oh well, it had existed in worse conditions. Talon could “suck it up and deal” like Jason teased so often.

Talon glanced around the lifeless room with a disinterested air. A makeshift storage for aimless Talons that were filled with hebetude had been created in this area. It was cold and damp with their storage areas which were wardrobe-sized instead of coffins. Talon could smell the mildew in the walls, hear the filthy rats creeping in the ducts. It was going hunting later tonight for the vermin. He snickered as he compared Owls to rats with all their frantic scurries and loud terrified squeals when Talon split their thin skins open for the actively twitching muscles underneath. To carefully tease the lines apart to look deeper with increasing curiosity as the vermin screeched. Depredate the pests homes and bodies till nothing was left.

Even more amusing than that was the fact of their blood being the same shade of delicious vermillion. Those Owls who claimed to own it were no better than vermin, Talon supposed. How strangely poetic. Talon had never been good with words, perhaps Dick (a small side of confused, scared gray matter shivered as the assassin prowling free inside the asylum cell of their brain called his name) was to blame for the creative bursts. Talon remembered making gifts for the Not-Owls (family) and the bright smiles when he’d presented them in boxes of colored paper. Talon brightened as he recognized others of Gotham and signaled relief, joy, trepidation. It was unaware of how the empty Talons stared with confused jealousy. It didn’t matter. They didn’t matter in the long run.

There building a balloon and carefully painting symbols onto the delicate weapon another Gotham Talon; she’d been fun to craft new weapons with before now. Her balloon explosives were a treat to place on knives before you chucked them into a face and watched the gory fireworks that followed suit. The memory was soothing to recall, calm in the storm of confused green Talon had found himself in. In the rafters above her was Cobb (great-grandfather); Talon might join him later, but for now the elder Talon was sharpening his knives and Talon wasn’t in the mood to navigate the murky waters of that black and white mind. Gray Son moved in a respectful greeting to the pair. They were his elders in all but kills and he’d show the proper respect. They didn’t answer, but Talon hadn’t expected one.

Because they were dead.

Talon had murdered them. Dark brows furrowed as he recalled a long, sturdy blade slowly chipping into their icy coffins high above Earth. It shuddered at the slamming crunch accompanied by shards of white-red-pink flung past its face. It didn’t like that memory. Why had it killed his family (tormentors? Fellow captives?) As Talon watched, the familiar pair flickered as if they were flame before guttering out. Talon didn’t blink. Things like that were getting more common and it had learned to ignore them, despite how unsettling it was to see a clawed hand pass through your great-grandfather’s lunging body. To hear whispers of paranoia and hunger like hundreds of fluttering moth wings as a bat scattered the lamp-lit cloud of insects and nothing be there when you spun around to rip open the offending flying mammal. The green tinge invading the edges of its senses would flare as well when this happened so it (he, not it) knew the visions were caused by the oppressive color. It wavered in and out of his vision and only faded when blood was spilt and death dealt.

Talon wondered where Raptor was in this facility. The bronze-skinned man was never housed with the Talons, but it hadn’t seen him around lately. It hadn’t had a mission for a while now either. It made him twitchy, fingers spasming before Talon got the unruly appendages under control once more.  
Come to think of it, Raptor had been giving Talon some strange looks lately. Talon liked the man despite the fact Raptor was only there to watch Talon. The Parliament did not trust the last surviving Gotham Talon and had assigned Raptor to the task. A fair assessment, though they’d never know he was there to kill them in their Nests till they saw Talon dripping in Owl blood and illuminated by blinding flames. He’d see the terror in Owl eyes and laugh as he ripped them out, to preserve that glassy film of fear. The first time a stronghold had burned (sabotaged) Raptor had ordered Talon to kill the traitors and he had done so with pleasure. The scarred man had recoiled from the gleeful laughter before following suit.

A useful tool, Raptor. Talon could understand why the Owls would keep him around. Easy to manipulate and strong enough to hold his own against Talons. Talon liked the man for the skills he possessed, but he wasn’t strong enough to be a master of Talon, let alone a Grandmaster, so wasn’t worth the time to speak to. A hooded falcon was a nice pet, after all, but did you spill your life out for a bird? No.

Raptor’s unsettled actions had started after Initiation if Talon was to be truthful. How was it to know the Parliament hadn’t discovered Owlman’s formula? Talon’s enemies had no chance to defeat the Gotham native. The crunch and grind of vertebrae under his fingers was still satisfying when it recalled the night. It had been easy to ignore the sharp stabs of pain from the same satisfying shards because of that. Those who had died to the sharp snaps under claw were unaware of how merciful Dick had been. The others, the supposed survivors, had been ripped to still breathing shreds and scraps to reassemble back together into new slightly twisted forms. Talon felt his fingers twitch at the memory, longing for more violence. He was so much stronger and overall better than the other Talons and Talon relished it. He was essential and the Parliament couldn’t assassinate him.  
These pathetic pieces of putrescent prey Owls were stuck in Gray Son’s web and their struggling made it more enjoyable each time it destroyed a stronghold. It only had slipshod plans, which made it more amusing that Owls, wise and powerful, were fooled. He had created flames to devour five in his time with the Parliament and planned for more. They were oblivious to the betrayal as Talon framed different individuals, sometimes a Grandmaster or, more commonly, one of their many pathetic subjugates. Each had been silenced after every successful rout, no longer needed and a loose end to be neatly tied off and discarded.

Then the Parliament sends for Al-Ghul. Talon had no reason to be interested in the soi-disant immortal man, but perhaps he would be useful. Talon knew of the League of Assassins. Had trained under their best student, after all. Perhaps the original would teach more, as he was conversant in the art of murder, be more open to the eradication of Owls. As he watched the man stride in, Talon (Dick?) shuddered at the menace in every step, the self-assured power Al-Ghul held. Talon saw his hands rip the Demon Head’s brain from his skull and use those aged, brittle bones as blades on his screaming mortal assassins. His tongue swiped across smiling sharp teeth at the thought.

The delighted hunger seemed to make the green expand into all of Talon’s senses and overpowering, enhancing them further. The sensory overload was enough to send Talon reeling back with a silent snarl, teeth gritting at the uncomfortable pain, smells and sounds sliding together with tastes. He pushed back the overload with conscious effort and   
slunk after the group of entitled bastards.

Oh look, Raptor’s ideas was rubbing off on Talon. The thought made it giggle quietly.

Sliding into the room, it quickly sequestered himself in the rafters to watch over the “clandestine” meeting. The double doors they had entered were ornate and expensive. A long, detailed, solid oak table was situated in the middle of the lavish office. Each chair had small place-cards before it, but Al-Ghul ignored them to take the most ornate chair at the head of the table. It instantly shifted the atmosphere and the power dynamics in the room. One of the Grandmasters, female judging by her swaying figure underneath the long cloak, clenched her fists at the impertinence. She sat heavily in the chair opposite and the other four Owls followed suit.

Al-Ghul’s presence in the room was stifling, as if his very being was…wrong or twisted in some way that made Talon shiver. The other Talons had a similar aura that made Talon shy away from the hollow corpses. What was the connection? It was gnawing on his brain, tiny little claws and fangs of alarm scratching, but the little mouse thought was impossible to catch. Stupid vermin.

To be honest, Talon was enthralled with how Al-Ghul held himself like a true Grandmaster. It wanted someone strong to guide his claws again, to challenge Talon’s skills again. The Parliament was disappointing in its posturing and transparency; nothing like Talon’s Court, which demanded respect and punished the slightest infraction. Al-Ghul held that kind of power, it knew, and Talon wanted.

It didn’t want this confused tangle of conflicting thoughts and threads; Talon wanted the empty bliss of clear orders and concise plans. Grandmaster Wayne was perfect in that regard, but he wasn’t here. The kind voice whispered in his mind (he never should be) in Talon’s mind and he nodded. The Grandmaster would be horrified at the lengths Talon (Dick) had gone to carry out the mission. He chuckled silently at the next whisper (even Jason, Damian, and Cass would be a bit unnerved) and agreed again.  
“The Gray Son is unstable. It attacks without compunction, happily murdering allies as well as prey. You promised us perfect soldiers and servants. Explain yourself,” the female Grandmaster sounded annoyed and failed to keep her mounting emotion from her whiny voice.

“I claimed nothing of the sort,” Al-Ghul’s voice was low and threatening as he steepled his hands together. Talon shifted at the pure disdain in that low snarl. It didn’t like the euphony Al-Ghul had as he spoke, too harmonious and sweet like Venus-Fly Traps nectar coyly luring in insects to devour. “You assumed that it would be a slave once more despite differing circumstances.” Gun-steel gray eyes flashed with irritation as the female opened her mouth once more. At least Al-Ghul was irritated by her as well.

“It was captured by The Batman and his ilk and was imprisoned there for fifteen years before we reclai,” deeply amused laughter interrupted the female Grandmaster. Talon saw the tensing of cloaked shoulders, however, and read interest and caution in the now rigid Al-Ghul. A small tilt of the head revealed a pleased smirk and plotting mind.  
Talon smiled in kind without realizing; a kneejerk reactionary instinct screaming to please. He was ignoring the fear tangling with the instincts as Al-Ghul glanced into the rafters. Talon slit its yellow eyes to make himself harder to see. A small pleased memory slid through his brain (Owlet had taught him that) distracting and calming in equal measure. Grey eyes flashed toxic green, but passed over the crouched assassin. Talon knew he’d been caught despite this and shivered.

Down below, the smirk became a smile.

“There’s your difficulty. The Gray Son,” Talon flinched at the venomous sarcasm dripping from Al-Ghul’s mouth as he said its designation, “has rediscovered personality and evolved from the mindless little puppet you created from the others you’ve made, become more adroit than you anticipated. The same thing happened to my daughter’s…pet project when he chased after Batman.” Talon bristled at the mention of his oldest Fledgling (Jason, whispered meekly in the back of its mind) being a pet for Talia Al-Ghul. He remained statuesque in immobility, losing this position meant loss of essential information. It could fail the mission if that happened. It had to hope Al-Ghul wouldn’t betray him.  
Talon didn’t like that fact, was chary to the agita caused by the simple idea. It felt like insects crawling in his skin that it had to trust Al-Ghul. He wasn’t one for disobedient servants, after all. He slid claws up and down his arms (to expel the bugs, escape the thoughts, do something as he waited,) blood staining the cloth before the slight scratches healed. Over and over, a spot-lit and swinging frayed wire above bloody, bone-stabbed earth, the claws travelled the well-worn path. Occasionally, the fingers twitched and ruined the parallel lines.

But the choice of words “Captured by Batman” niggled at Gray Son. Why was it so unsettled by the thought? Ever since the Court, Talon had been adamant about its freedom and the request had been accepted. Jason had tried to convince Dick that Grandmaster Wayne was wrong when he’d returned to Bludhaven after…after his death. The argument had been easily discarded by the elation of rediscovering a lost brother; Dick didn’t have to follow his Grand…Batman’s orders any more than a bird heeded gravity, but until now the conversation had been forgotten. Why was it surfacing again; did it have merit in this situation? No, so the thread of thought was balled up and shoved into a corner to examine later. Dust behind galloping horses as their riders flipped over and on the swift beasts, cheering crowds and smiling faces half recalled. Talon didn’t have time to linger on the idea of Batman keeping Talon (Dick) subdued and docile. The conversation had continued while Talon had been distracted.

The lines had gotten deeper as Talon idly pondered. Distractions were welcome, a mission required. It was falling to ruin.

“You are giving Lazarus Water to walking corpses and expect it to have no strange side effects to any of the elements in your Talon Serum,” a displeased frown crossed Al-Ghul’s face,” Which you have failed to deliver to the League as the agreed price. I have begun to grow impatient.”

The Owls shifted as their Grandmaster stiffened further at Al-Ghul’s insinuation. Her head tilted towards the trio with deliberate slowness. They shuffled more in the wooden chairs. Talon’s eyes widened. The Owls had tried to escape paying the Demon-Head where even those empty husks of Talons knew not to attempt. The Grandmaster placed her hands onto the table and rose slowly.

“Excuse us for a moment,” she spoke slowly as well. Talon shivered at her barely masked menace. She was angry with her subordinates and Talon knew what happened then. He was going vermin hunting later. Wasn’t it nice how life worked itself out? He had just been thinking about that and now here was the delightful chance! Al-Ghul remained sitting as the Grandmasters filed out. Neither man moved from their place, one crouched above and the other reclining below.

“So you are exterminating Owls? Fortunately, I have the same goals in mind; why don’t you join me, little falcon,” Al-Ghul smiled.


	23. Snapshots-Bruce's Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings! This isn’t the chapter you’re looking for. However, this one’s been in the works for a while, even named Snapshot 4. Not really that anymore now is it? I’m on the fence with this one, but wish to be free of this thing. :/ Oh well.
> 
> It kinda pertains to the halfway point in this arc? Definitely correlates with Prelude’s second part.
> 
> New snapshots will be posted at the end of the whole fic until a new chapter is posted to replace it. Then they will be placed in chronological order.
> 
> ToastyThief

When Bruce returned from his “death” the first place he went to was, of course, Wayne Manor. He paused at the gate that marked the house’s boundaries, apprehension sliding insidious fingers down his spine. The sky threatened to rain as thunder rumbled in the distance, a prelude to an opening of floodgates to a torrential cliché. Bruce hoped that meant all his sons would be inside the colossal house. He wanted to do this once, not be forced to repeat “I was stuck in time, not dead. When I returned, it was beneficial to not inform you so that you all would be safe.” He didn’t want to deal with multiple emotional fallouts, “one and done” as it were, he decided. Bruce heaved a sigh as he opened the silent metal gate, but did not enter.

He felt unwelcome. As if Wayne Manor itself disapproved of its heir’s actions. He shook off the irrational feeling and strode down the winding cobblestone driveway. The courtyard was as meticulous as ever, not an errant leaf in sight and nary a weed. Alfred must have gotten help from the boys. Jason had always enjoyed calming activities (when he was younger, at least, Bruce wasn’t sure about his preferences nowadays; Jason had to be forced to interact with Bruce when out of costume and cajoled when on patrol) and Damian loved to rip flora to shreds with his weapons. Bruce reached the solid wood front door. His hand shook as he lifted it. The knock’s echo was loud, Bruce heard it from outside. Voices soon followed, slowly growing louder as their owners got closer.

“Master Dick, it is one of my duties to open the door for guests.” Bruce smiled fondly at the age-old argument. Dick didn’t approve of Alfred doing all the work around the Manor and always tried to assist the elderly man. It bothered the old man that Dick wouldn’t relax and let Alfred do chores around the house. At least that facet of Bruce’s life had stayed constant.

“Alfred, this is your official day off. You need to relax and take it easy just this once. I can handle the Manor for just a day,” Dick’s amused smile was easy to hear in his voice. Bruce checked over his clothes one last time in a nervous gesture as the door opened. He carefully glanced up behind his bangs to gauge the reaction and almost cursed. Dick stood frozen at the door, previously warm smile now frigid on his face. Alfred was right behind him, face carefully blank of the surprise that gleamed in his gray eyes. Bruce raised his head and awkwardly cleared his throat.

“H…Hello, Dick. Alfred,” he said, wincing at the stuttered words right after they escaped into the tense air. That’s the first thing he says after nearly a year and a half? God, how callous had Bruce unconsciously become? His thoughts were interrupted by Dick’s right fist meeting his nose. Bruce recoiled, hands reaching up to cover the injured area as he groaned.

“How dare you,” Dick hissed, voice low and filled with hatred, as he flexed his fingers open to remove the after effects of his punch, “impersonate a dead man. Do you have no respect for the loss my family is still recovering from? Leave this property before I force you to.” Bruce was surprised at how angry and betrayed he felt at the words. Alfred quickly got between the pair, ever the mediator.

“Excuse Master Richard’s actions, sir. Master Wayne’s sudden death hit the whole family quite hard and the feelings are still raw despite the time that has passed,” Alfred sent a sharp glare at Bruce with the words. Bruce winced at the obvious barb as his father figure continued, “Come inside and I’ll get some things for your nose, like paper and some ice to ease the swelling.” Bruce hesitantly followed Alfred past Dick, who leveled a vicious and icy blue glare at Bruce, yellow shards of fury blooming near the edges of his irises and pupils. Bruce almost made a comment on it, but refrained, almost biting his tongue to prevent it. It wouldn’t do to have Dick even more on edge. The door was quietly snicked closed behind them by the young man before he trailed after them.

Bruce was perplexed (in pain, as well, but that was easily ignored) at Dick’s actions. He could still feel the glare burning into his shoulder blades as they followed Alfred into the kitchen. He suppressed the urge to shudder as the feeling reminded him of his father at his desk after Bruce had tracked mud into the Manor at the tender age of five. Did he change so much that Dick hadn’t recognized him? Was that possible, Cassandra had been helping Dick understand body language in individual people last Bruce recalled.  
“Richard, who interrupted our board game? Was it that asylum worker or the social worker again,” Damian yelled as he came closer to the group. Before Bruce could register the strange query, Damian kept speaking before he froze in the doorway as Bruce was handed a folded paper towel. “As you know, Drake and I have made a be…explain yourselves.” Dick slid over to his little brother without letting his glare waver from Bruce’s body. The movement was predatory, meant to subconsciously intimidate a foe. Bruce felt his confusion trickle into disbelief at the movement. His eldest truly believed he was a threat? What was going on here?

“Your bet is still on, Owlet. This man was at the door and the only reason he is inside is because Alfred wanted to fix his nose,” he murmured, almost too low for Bruce to register. Damian’s eyes narrowed as he glanced between the three men. Bruce fought down the childish urge to fidget under the trio of gazes.

“Richard, he looks too much like Father to be a fake. A clone, perhaps, or Clayface,” Damian answered in the same volume. Dick shrugged his shoulders minutely. He leaned closer and pitched his voice too low for Bruce to catch. Alfred tapped his shoulder, shaking him from his ponderings, to hand over a Ziploc bag with a few melting ice cubes inside. The whole thing was wrapped in damp paper towels. Bruce placed it carefully on his face after assuring the older man that his nose wasn’t broken (luckily.) “Richard, the likelihood of my father returning from the grave is low despite our strange proficiency for doing so. I understand your feelings…I have them as well, but we’ve already lost Drake to the delusion,” Damian paused, choking slightly on emotion, voice even lower than before, but audible, “I can’t lose you as well.”

Dick’s whole demeanor changed at the words, becoming protective a secondary objective to comforting his smallest brother. This was Bruce’s eldest, the one he recognized, the one half-choked and hidden under Owl feathers for far too long. Dick crouched before Damian with a soft, pained noise, hands framing the little boy’s face.

“I would never abandon my Owlet! No matter how far I may fly or how tangled my brain gets, my brothers are the most important thing. I’d never hurt you; you’re my Fledglings,” he whispered.


	24. Thoughts and Recollections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY CRIPES, I LIIIIIIIIIVE! These chapters are fighting till their last breath TT^TT; forgive me. I just want them to be good and coherent.
> 
> Lots of things have been getting me down recently too, but you guys don’t deserve to hear/read my problems all the time, so I’ll just leave it there. Hope this is as a-ok as I hope it is.
> 
> Toasty Thief

Jason sat on a dripping gargoyle parapet meditating on his missing brother and the Justice League’s plan. Patrol had been hectic until now. Multiple robberies, a few attempted kidnappings and/or assaults, and more to add to the usual overflowing Gotham trash heap. It was harder to keep up with the criminal element now that the Bats were A. down a player, B. searching for said player, and C. the criminals were aware of Nightwing’s absence. It was breaking the Gotham heroes down faster because of the low morale.  
Now to the real reason Jason was sitting in the rain (the noise helped his brain to focus, to calm the churning and circling ideas,) there were Owl strongholds burning faster than before, which worried Jason. It meant that A. Dick was getting impatient or B. he’d started getting some help. Either were concerning, to be frank. Honestly, the assistance one was insanely more dire in the long run. It meant that the ever-paranoid Talon was trusting someone to assist him, which had never happened. A Talon doing business deals with the Bat’s enemies was concerning because Talons only had two definable traits: their skills as assassins and as spies. Not their planning skills or strategic business deals.  
If Dick had buddied up with an Owl, then why was said Owl tearing apart their own source of income and power? If Jason was one of those little fucks, even with a sudden attack of conscience, he wouldn’t remove such a nice source of prestige and allies. If it wasn’t an Owl, who was it then? The League hadn’t discovered any new players recently in their discrete investigations into Dick’s status. The Bats hadn’t been told about their bird’s status, but they hadn’t really found anything either. From the last stronghold Jason’s sources had stumbled across (literally, it had been in Jump City of all places,) there were ashes with traces of frankincense. It was tugging at Jason’s brain; something familiar haunting his brain.

Then it clicked and he lunged for his coms, almost dropping the muted device. When it clicked on, a deafening argument blasted from the shitty speakers, crackling the audio. Jason groaned loud enough to be heard. The argument faltered as the noise registered.  
“Well, sorry to cut the screamfest short, ladies, but I found a clue. The remains of the Jump warehouse, mansion, or wherever they were holing up, I can’t tell anymore, in had traces of frankincense in the ashes. That’s a signature of League involvement, right?” He stood up, puddled rain sloughing off his clothes in a deluge.

 

 

His mind wasn’t truly focused on the mission. Al’Ghul’s offer was still on it’s mind, especially after the man had obliterated thirteen Owl strongholds in “a show of good faith.” He’d be returning tomorrow and Talon needed to have an answer by then. He shook himself slightly to refocus on the matter at present. Al’Ghul had Talon under his thumb, to be perfectly frank, and Talon was…unsettled. Ruffled. It attempted to, once more, shake itself free from the insidious doubtful thoughts creeping steadily from the tiny voice. Did Batman want his skill and nothing else? Were the Fledglings only invested in Dick, the robin and not the owl? Was Talon…and Dick, even, willingly placing a heavy collar around their necks and flitting back into a gilded, invisible cage with each choice they made? The predator untamed but defeated by kind words and loving traps.  
Talon set charges down as Raptor hacked into their target’s computer system. A long sanguine wire laced between sharpened white teeth and multicolored electric veins going helter-skelter through Talon’s long, slender fingers. They are attempting to locate the correct lines to tangle together when, for the seventy-eighth time this night, he feels amber eyes on its back. Talon suppresses the violent twist and toss they long to preform, a slender knife finding its home in one of those inquisitive pools, with an earthquake shudder deep from its bones. Why is it repressing the urge so; Talon has no clue. His small, invisible companion, the tiny voice, purrs though and Talon takes comfort in this. At least someone is pleased on this fine downpouring day.

When Talon had heard the rattling of the roof before the mission, bone clatters hanging from the ceiling on cobwebs, it had rushed to the roof. So eager to solve the mystery outside, he had used Owls as springboards, paying no heed to their cries of outrage and fear. They were of no consequence when the Gray Son was on the prowl. Bursting from the concrete cage, he had danced in the tears of the deities, laughing as the droplets slid down his twisting form like clear blood and spiraled off his prancing, leaping body. He’d made spiraling arcs, dripping arches, flying as only a Talon can from the ground with the joy and childishness in each move clear. The green-stained Gotham Talons had joined in his serenade, adding to the aria with sparkling kicks and leaps, trailing corrupted green ribbons and silks from their hands and feet. Talon had felt like Dick and itself and perfect with no rules and limitations shackling them to the ground and to the “correct, righteous path” or the “bearing befit such a high-standing Talon.” The other (“live”) Talons; broken, empty eggshells that they were, tried to join in the jubilation. Their movement had been stuttered and terrified of punishment, but Talon knew they had felt alive again.  
It had been rapturous to feel whole again.

The electric current veins finally connected in Gray Son’s hands, sending a long vibration through his body and he made swift work of the remaining trails and nests of explosives. Then, the seventy-ninth time crawled down their spine and Talon snarled silently, only showing his teeth as a warning. He knew the gold clad man was going to needle it with questions, so why was Raptor hesitating? It was irksome. Get the torment over with; it was almost enough for Talon to audibly voice exasperation. The horror, snarked the voice. Talon bristled at the insolence of the thing but said nothing. The green whispers had returned and scared him, undulating vines wrapping themselves into Talon, encroaching into his vision.

“Grayson…do you even remember the circus?” The long-awaited inquiry was soft, as if he hadn’t wanted to be heard. Talon turned with an excited smile. The expression made Raptor flinch backwards. Weren’t smiles good for humans? What had Talon done wrong?  
“Yes, it does! The flights with no wings, the laughing after audiences left, and the familial comradery we had. The silent way things became as we flew; the tent holding its breath and then becoming cacophonous when we safely landed,” Talon felt his hands raise up to it’s chest in loose fists. Talon was holding a fragile, well-hidden secret close to his empty, still heart. No one had ever asked him before, if it remembered being a free uncaged bird, if he remembered the rhythm and poise of the complicated world of showmanship.

His Fledglings had each inquired…after a fashion, but screamed of indifference, uninterest. Little Wing had seemed interested before Alfred had asked for assistance and he’d bolted. As if Dick’s words would chase and devour as Talon did with its prey, drinking their metallic blood as a sweet wine. His defected Grandmaster, Timothy, had only asked after the technicalities and Owlet, sweet little boy that he was, had scoffed.

“Why would I be interested in preforming freaks of nature like you, Grayson?”

Talon remembered the sharp burn of shame on its face, body shrinking down and away as Jason fled. It had taken too much time from the boy, stupid stupid. It remembered itself dissecting a cushion’s fraying seam, polyester innards seeping through the thready, plush fabric skin as Tim engrossed himself in data. It had bored his young master. Talon’s Owlet words had pierced his soul, an involuntary pained sound escaping his throat before Damian had turned at the noise. Dick had fled, a burning feeling in his eyes and chest, choking and overwhelming.

He hadn’t seen the confusion turn to horrified shame on Damian’s face, a small hand reaching out as if that would stop the elder man from running. Never known Jason had tried to find the wayward owl for two hours afterward. Unaware of how Tim had been looking into buying circus tickets for the family that went undone, everything else getting in the way.

Raptor sighed with a small, fond smile, most likely recalling his own time among the tents. Talon’s face fell as he continued speaking, voice lowering into a slight snarl. “It also remembers the fall. I recall the way my whole family let me be taken by a man I’d never met before, never heard of. It remembers the way they comforted the patrons before checking on their youngest fledgling, letting it be stolen by serpents straight from the nest.” Raptor’s amber eyes had turned horrified looking at the still young man beside him.

“Yes, Raptor. I remember the circus. It knows you are from there.” Gold eyes lifted to lock with the shaking man’s own. He smiled unkindly but let the dark-skinned man shiver as the Talon went off to melt into shadows. “Hurry. I won’t hesitate to detonate once I’m clear.”

**Author's Note:**

> Read and if you want, review. I would appreciate if you would tell me what to improve.  
> Thanks for reading this.


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